Cup of Joy
by ElouiseBates
Summary: Jane Stuart is sure life will be perfect now that Mother and Dad are back together. But between Aunt Irene's meddling and the tangles of growing up, can even Superior Jane keep up with it all? COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

Jane Stuart—just Jane, now and forevermore!—looked out the east window of her beloved Lantern Hill kitchen and gave a little gasp of dismay.

"Mummy," she said hurriedly, turning away from the sink, regardless of the dirty water dripping on her nice clean floor, "Wouldn't you like to go take a long walk? Down by the shore? _Now_?"

Mother looked up from the table where she was trying to mend a torn curtain. It had set Jane's teeth on edge to look at the uneven stitches and little puckers, but she bore with it bravely for Mother's sake. She knew, Jane did, what it was to want to contribute—and never be allowed to. So she said nothing about Mother's funny mistakes, even if she and Dad did look across the table at each other sometimes and quirk up their eyes in silent laughter.

"Why darling, whatever had gotten into you?"

"It's such a nice day," explained Jane with another frantic glance out the window. _Was_ there enough time? "You haven't had much time on the Island—you shouldn't waste it"—

Mother rose and moved silently to the window. Her lips compressed tightly for a moment before she relaxed and laughed. "No good, my darling Jane. You must let me be brave and face things for myself. You can't protect me forever."

To anyone else, these words coming from a mother to a daughter might have sounded strange, but Jane, even though she _wished_ Mummy would let her take care of it, was nonetheless proud of her.

So it was, when Irene Stuart knocked on Lantern Hill's front door, that mother and daughter greeted her together, with identical smiles.

"The Kennedy smile," Irene later told a friend. "I knew the moment I saw them that…well, poor Andrew…" she sighed. "His life won't be very comfortable from now on, I'm afraid. If only…"

To Mother's face, however, she was all smiles and sweetness. "_Can_ this really be Robin? Dear, dear, lovey, how you've changed! Well, ten years, you know…and here is my own little Janie, all healthy again! You gave your darling old auntie quite a fright, you know, lovey. You look mostly recovered, but…" and she sighed.

"Won't you have some tea, Irene?" Mother asked calmly, while Jane went white with fury. How dare Aunt Irene insinuate that Mother looked old? Why, even Mrs. Jimmy John would have guessed she was Jane's older sister had she not known the truth. As for "Janie"—Jane swallowed something and moved to put Tipsy, her dancing teakettle, on.

"Well, Robin, I _am_ glad you and 'Drew worked things out, though I was surprised he didn't say anything to _me_ about it beforehand…he always used to tell me _everything_ first…but times have changed, I suppose." She glanced at stony-faced Jane and changed to a more patronizing tone. "I always knew you would come around eventually…'Drew is just so impatient, always has been! He does expect those around him to be simply perfection, and refuses to believe that some of us aren't quite there…I _told_ him you were just a child…but he wouldn't heed me." And she sighed. "I _do_ hope things go better this time…but don't expect too much of him, lovey. He _does_ carry a grudge forever…and he was very bitter, I can't deny that…of course, we can't really blame him, can we? After all, it was you who…"

"Sugar, Aunt Irene?" Jane interrupted blandly before she could sigh again. Aunt Irene could imply so much with a simple gust of air.

She was amused in an instant. "And she still wants to play at being housekeeper! You'll have to let your mother do _some_ things, Janie, now. You mustn't expect to have your father all to yourself anymore…I know how you hate to share him…and you won't be able to have things all your own way, either." To mother, she said laughingly, "Jane here has always been the darlingest little thing…trying to take care of 'Drew and the house all by herself! So independent and secretive…wouldn't expect any help from me! I practically had to _force_ it on her…the dear child."

Jane had gone from white to crimson, but Mother—dear Mother!—just put a loving arm around her. "She's going to teach me all her tricks, now. Though I don't expect I'll ever match her cooking skills. I've never tasted a pie as delectable as the raspberry pie she made for us last night."

That shot told—Aunt Irene was "noted" for her pies. She laughed again, but it sounded a little hard this time. "Oh lovey, don't worry about that! I'll be happy to bring over anything that you need. I know what men…'Drew…like to eat. Don't you fret about a thing, darlings. I'll be over here every day to help…fancy you two babies trying to run a house all by yourselves!"

Jane was herself again by now. Nothing…not even Aunt Irene…could floor Jane for long. "I took care of Dad all by myself for two summers, Aunt Irene."

"Of course you did, lovey," in her most patronizing tone.

Mother was a little pale herself, but she spoke in a calm voice. "I appreciate your offer, Irene, but I think it's time I start doing things myself—with Jane's help, of course. A wife ought to be able to take care of her own family, don't you think?"

" 'She looketh to the ways of her household,' " Jane murmured.

Aunt Irene was all hurt sweetness in an instant. "Of _course_, lovey, I never want to _interfere_…I just want to help…" she whisked out a ridiculous lacey handkerchief and applied it to her—Jane was certain—perfectly dry eyes. "Andrew's my only brother…he's all I have…_now_," she added pathetically. "But of course you don't want me…you never did like to share...Jane gets it from you, I expect…you always did have a dislike for me…I should have expected…"

Mother crumbled. "No, Irene, that's not it at all. Of course I don't want to steal Andrew from you. I didn't mean to push you away…you know you're welcome any time…" her voice trailed off helplessly.

"More tea, Aunt Irene?" Jane offered in a clear, hard voice.

Irene stood up heavily. "No, no thank you, dearie. I think I should be going…no, I've no hard feelings, Robin. I love 'Drew too much to hold a grudge against any of his…I _understand_…your mother…but I think it's best if I just go…"

She sighed all the way to her car. Jane stood next to Mother and watched her leave.

"With any luck, Mummy, she won't ever come back."

"Oh Jane, I didn't mean to offend her," Mother said piteously. "After all, Andrew is her only brother. Do you think I was too hard on her?"

"_No_," Jane said emphatically. "She's just trying to cause trouble, Mummy, as always. Don't let her."

But Mother didn't look convinced, and Jane went back to her dishes with a worried pucker in her forehead.


	2. Chapter 2

Not much had changed about this Superior Jane in the time since that awful, horrible March when she'd almost died…she was a little thinner, to be sure, and in her goldy-brown eyes—though she didn't realize it—the innocence of childhood was gone forever. Andrew Stuart saw it and cursed himself for being such a stubborn fool to bring the kind of pain he'd brought into his daughter's life. Robin Stuart saw it and mourned the loss of her baby. Old Victoria Kennedy saw it, during that one brief, bitter interview neither of them ever mentioned to anyone, and realized afresh that her granddaughter was out of her reach. Irene Stuart, though not as discerning, instinctively felt the same thing and resented it.

In the three months since her parents reunited, Jane had been the happiest of all happy creatures. They went to Boston, to see about Dad's book—Jane instantly fell in love with the stately old city, even if it _wasn't_ P.E.I.—and then back to Toronto to purchase "their" house in Lakeside Gardens. While there, Mother tried briefly to explain matters to her family…and concluded, sadly, that they would never forgive her this second indiscretion. Once was bad enough—twice was intolerable. Jane's short interview with Grandmother Kennedy took place at the same time…though neither Robin nor Andrew ever realized it.

Then they were back at Lantern Hill for the summer…and Aunt Irene, who had felt the need to spend an inordinate amount of time "consoling" Lillian Morrow for the loss of their 'Drew, was just now visiting them for the first time. Jane had hoped they would have a longer respite, but alas, it was not to be.

Dad burst in the door, fresh from his jaunt along the shore with Old Contemptible. He claimed he couldn't think in the house anymore…"How am I ever supposed to finish my Methuselah epic with you two female creatures chattering all the time?" he complained plaintively.

Jane saw though his façade, though, and knew he really liked to just dream along the shore…by the water and the dunes, with the gulls calling harshly overhead and the sun shimmering off the waves like so many diamonds. Jane was rather fond of that sort of dreaming herself.

"Are you two prattled out yet?" he growled, at the same time gently kissing the top of Mother's head. It always gave Jane a queer ache to see him to that—but oh, such a nice ache! "It amazes me that women have to talk about something all the time, even when there's nothing to talk about!"

"You're the only one talking now, Dad," Jane pointed out.

Dad laughed—a free, open laugh such as Jane had never heard before Mother came back. "She has me—Superior Jane has pierced my defenses. Jane, do you think you could manage supper if I stole your mother for a walk?"

Jane simply smiled. If ever there was a foolish question, that was it…and Dad's twinkling eyes showed that he knew it.

"Where to, dearest?" Mother asked.

"Little Aunt Em—she heard that you were back and sent word that she wanted to see you."

Jane was pleased. She would have liked to see Little Aunt Em herself…but it was good that Mother was going. Little Aunt Em could help Mother with housekeeping and gardening and knowing how to manage Dad…and how best to defend against Aunt Irene's sweet poison.

Grandmother no longer troubled Jane…but Aunt Irene was a cat of a different color, as Dad would say.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been an afternoon when Mother and Dad were talking business with Mr. Ford, the editor of the _Saturday Evening_. They'd left Jane happily fixing up her bedroom at Lakeside Gardens…a dear, delightful room, twice as large as her room at Lantern Hill, but still tiny by 60 Gay's standards…a room with one window looking out toward Lake Ontario's misty blueness and another nearly brushed by the deep green needles of a large pine tree out back…a room with cool, pale mint walls (Jane was planning on stenciling them when she had the chance) and a dark hardwood floor, mostly covered by a beige rug with a russet, brown, and orange pattern—a rug that was perfect for the autumn months Jane would be spending there…a room with a cunning bed built right into the wall, with cream-colored curtains to draw around it if the wind blew too fiercely…a room with a window seat and a writing desk and even a little basket for Peter and Silver Penny…a room _nothing_ like her old bedroom at 60 Gay.

In the midst of organizing her desk, Jane remembered with dismay that all her letters from Prince Edward Island were still at 60 Gay. She _couldn't_ leave them there for Grandmother to sneer over and perhaps even destroy. They belonged _here_, in _her_ home…her home with Mother and Dad.

Jane sat down to think. It was mid-afternoon…Grandmother and Aunt Gertrude usually went out to tea on Friday afternoons…she could take the cars and get over there and back before Mother and Dad returned. Mary would let her in, _and_ hold her tongue about it afterward.

For Jane, to decide on a thing was to do it. She promptly slipped into one of her pretty knitted sweaters, placed a jaunty blue tam on her glossy head, and slipped down the stairs and out the door, not forgetting to lock it securely behind her.

Mary was delighted to see "Miss Victoria" again, and insisted on Jane's sitting down in the kitchen and having a snack. Jane didn't want to spend any more time at 60 Gay than she had to…and the turnover _wasn't_ as good as hers…but she didn't want to hurt Mary's feelings, so she stayed.

While there, she wheedled some of her favorite recipes out of the good-natured Mary…including one for blueberry pie.

"I've never found anyone who makes it like you," she said sincerely, thinking with some satisfaction of Aunt Irene's blueberry pie. Aunt Irene _was_ a marvelous cook…though Jane writhed whenever she had to admit it…but even _she_ met her waterloo when it came to blueberry pie. Only blueberry, though! The rest of her pies "praised her in the gates."

Finally, Jane left the kitchen and crept up to her old room. It was _strange_ to be back at 60 Gay…and even stranger to think that she'd never have to come back again.

She pulled the thick packet of letter out of the creamy writing desk, looking briefly through them to make sure they were all there. Yes, every one, even that hideous note from Aunt Irene where she'd hinted at Dad planning on marrying Lillian Morrow. Jane vowed she would burn _that_ as soon as she was home.

Closing the drawer, she turned from the desk to the door…looked up…and saw Grandmother, standing silent and terrible before her.

Jane turned red and then white. She closed her lips in a thin line and lifted her chin undauntedly. She _was not_ afraid of Grandmother anymore…she _would not_ be afraid.

There was an odd resemblance between the two as they faced each other…one so old and small and terrible, the other so young and sturdy and defiant. The silence grew and grew until it was almost tangible. Finally, Grandmother spoke.

"You are not welcome here, Victoria."

"Then I shall leave," Jane returned spiritedly.

Grandmother did not move. "You have ruined your mother's life," she spat suddenly. Her eyes and voice were both frozen terribly, and Jane shivered a bit in spite of herself. "You…and your _father_. You both took her from me…she loves you more than me. She was all I had, and you have destroyed her. I gave her everything she ever could have wanted…and you took her from me."

_Something_ rose up in Jane. She looked down from her great height at Grandmother contemptuously. "_You_ were the one who was destroying Mother…you were killing her day by day. You were so jealous and afraid of anything else she might love…even her own daughter…that you trapped her in a little cage and refused to let her go free." As she spoke, Jane couldn't help but wonder how she knew such things, but know them she did, with an absolute certainty. "You didn't really love her…you were sucking the life out of her…you only loved yourself. If you'd loved her, you would have sacrificed your own selfish desires to make her happy."

Grandmother's eyes blazed suddenly with a cold fire. "I gave her everything she ever wanted!"

"And tried to keep her from the things…the people…she truly cared for," Jane countered. "Mother _belongs_ with us…with Dad and me. She is not yours anymore."

Clutching her letters to her chest, she pushed past Grandmother and strode bravely down the stairs. She did not look back once, not even once the front door was closed and she was getting on the streetcar.

Only once she was sitting down did she allow herself one final glance back at the dead house…the house that lost its only bit of life when Mother left. A faint stirring of pity touched Jane's heart. After all, Grandmother _was_ going to be very lonely from now on.

Still…she had brought it on herself. Jane couldn't let pity make her feel guilty…guilt was what had kept Mother chained up all those years. A faint smile touched Jane's lips.

" 'Goodbye, proud world,' " she murmured softly. " 'I'm going home'' "


	4. Chapter 4

Jane loved her new home in Lakeside Gardens. She couldn't love it _quite_ as much as Lantern Hill, but she was more than happy to give it second-best affections. Everything about it was darling…the breakfast nook in pale yellow, that was warm and inviting even on gloomy days…the diamond-paned windows giving it the appearance of winking in a friendly fashion at all the passerby…the built-in china closets…the rock garden and stone terraces…the _two_ guest bedrooms upstairs that were _aching_ to be furnished…Dad's study, in dark green and mahogany, with his green-spotted cat and brass dog sitting on opposite corners of his desk…Mother's sitting room done in blue and gold, looking as dainty and delicate as Mother herself…the sun-room where Jane sat to write her letters on warm days…_everything_. There was not one thing about the home that Jane didn't love. Just as 60 Gay had always seemed dead, this home was alive from the moment they took possession of it. It laughed with them…welcomed them…took them in and loved them.

Jane wasted no time in making friends there, either. By the end of the first week, she had met all the neighbors and befriended most of them, from sad little Mrs. Kane, the war-bride whose husband had been killed in France, to the Westins, whose six children kept their house overflowing with laughter and life, to stern Mr. Kendall, the author. He lived all alone in a big, empty house, without even a cat or dog to keep him company. The Westin children were all afraid of him, but Jane rather liked his stormy, mysterious eyes and scowling mouth. He had a reputation as a hater of children and women, but even he stood no chance against Jane. From the first time she smiled cheerfully at him, he long afterward averred, he was "hooked." He smiled back…Jane was to learn later how rare Mr. Kendall's smiles were…and spoke.

"Well, and who do you belong to?"

"Myself," Jane answered triumphantly. She had been exploring the development all day, and was just now going home in the twilight. The setting sun reflected off her russet hair with a warm glow, and her square chin and generous mouth spoke of satisfaction and contentment.

"To be sure," Mr. Kendall responded, his dark eyes lightening just a tad. "And did you spring from the woods out back, in the ravine? You look rather as though you could be a dryad…not of a birch tree or beech, certainly…nothing so insubstantial…but perhaps from the red maple, or even the elm." He pursed his lips and studied her critically. "Yes, definitely the maple. You look the very spirit of our national tree."

Jane decided that she liked the way he spoke. Her fancy was captured at the idea of being a dryad…living in the woods, friends with all the plants and creatures, dancing to wild, unearthly music on moonlit night…it almost eclipsed her old moon dreams.

"It _would_ be fun to be a dryad," she said consideringly. "But even a forest couldn't be a better place to live than here, or at Lantern Hill."

Mr. Kendall raised one thick eyebrow…Jane decided it was those thick, bushy brows that really frightened the Westin children. They _could_ look rather intimidating when drawn together. "And where, O Spirit, is Lantern Hill?"

Thus invited, Jane sat down on his porch steps and told him all about Lantern Hill and the Jimmy Johns and Snowbeams and Min and everyone. He listened with flattering interest, smiling a little at some of her descriptions, but not interrupting once.

"I'm surprised you could bear to leave there," he finally said once she had finished.

"I didn't think I could, the first year I came back," Jane admitted. "But there are things I like about here, too. I like my school, and now Mother, Dad and I have our own darling home here, I am quite satisfied."

"Blessed girl!" he said, standing up. "To be perfectly satisfied is a rare gift…cherish it well."

In the twilight, he didn't look frightening at all…only sad and weary. Jane felt suddenly that she would like to make him laugh…to chase away that haunted look in his eyes.

"I am tired, Jane Stuart," he said abruptly. "And your family will worry if you are out too late. I think you'd best be on your way now."

Jane got up to go, a little hurt at the brusque dismissal. Perhaps Mr. Kendall saw that, for he smiled again at her, crinkling his eyes up in the corners like Dad always did.

"Come again and talk to me sometime, blithe spirit," he said. "You make me feel almost young again…and that does not happen often. Don't mind if I am sometimes a cross bear. I've been living alone for many years, and I think I've forgotten how to get on with people."

Jane's hurt feelings vanished at once. She determined right then and there that she would help Mr. Kendall become happy again…somehow. She smiled radiantly at him.

"I will. Good night!"

She danced off in the gathering dusk, unaware that his eyes followed her until she was out of sight, a tender look lurking in their sorrowful depths.

Despite his occasional moody spells, Jane liked Mr. Kendall, and she liked Mrs. Kane as well, for her cheerful endurance and bravery.

Mrs. Kane had been only eighteen years old when she got married to her sweetheart right before he left to go fight overseas. He had been killed six months later, leaving her a widow while still a bride.

She never railed against fate or wallowed in self-pity, but went on cheerfully and courageously, moving in with his ailing mother and looking after her for the next eighteen years. Old Mrs. Kane exhibited all the bitterness her daughter-in-law didn't over the death of the boy they both loved, and as time went by, grew only crankier and angrier, eventually coming to resent this quiet, calm woman who had…in her mind…stolen her son's love. The last five years of her life had been miserable for all concerned, but she had died just this past winter, and Mrs. Kane was free.

She sold the old Kane home in Forest Hill and moved to Lakeside Gardens for, she told Jane, a chance to start her life anew. She was only thirty-six, she laughed, still young enough to enjoy life.

Jane both liked and admired her. She wasn't very pretty, with mouse-brown hair and soft, irregular features, but she had a vivacity that shone through her brown eyes and all her years of drudgery hadn't stolen away her spirit or her laughter.

She was an excellent cook, and she and Jane could spend hours comparing recipes and exchanging tips. The Westin children seemed to have some sort of sixth sense when the two of them got together, and always showed up just in time for cookies or candies.

The Westins were nowhere near as interesting as Jane's two adult friends, but Jane liked them just the same. There were six of them, from seventeen-year-old Abbie, who was fascinated by screen stars and their glamorous lives, to little Edwin, the baby of the family at three.

In between were Colby, the oldest son at fifteen, Eden, the thirteen-year-old daughter—just Jane's age, Tracy, the middle boy, age ten, and Marilyn, a petite fairy of a girl at age six.

They were all loud and excited, and Jane always felt dazed after a visit to their house, and ready to go home to peace and quiet. But they were also fun and adventurous, and in awe over her many exploits on the Island. They took her fishing on the Humber and Lake Ontario, and promised they'd go swimming with her if she was ever there when it was warm enough. With them, she explored the ravine behind her home, learning its ins and outs thoroughly.

Every day was an adventure to the Westins…Jane loved that way of looking at life, as though each day was a gift, bringing endless possibilities. That was the way life was at Lantern Hill…but she hadn't expected to find it anywhere else.


	5. Chapter 5

All in all, Jane had a grand time in Toronto, getting their new home ready for them to live in it come autumn, but she was even happier when they stepped off the ferry on the Island.

Home! It was as if Jane had never left. Everyone was happy to have her back…Step-a-yard and Jimmy John came over to update her on the farm news (and ask her advice)…old Timothy Salt brought her a huge pile of driftwood for burning on cool nights…Min and the Jimmy Johns and the Snowbeams and Ding-Dong came over in a body, all bearing gifts, and had a wild bonfire on the shore that night, to celebrate her return.

Jody, of course, came over as soon as she could, and she and Jane had a rapturous reunion. Jody was already looking quite a different creature…her black hair was washed and trimmed and curled gently around her jaw, bringing out the hidden character of her face. Her velvet-brown eyes that were once so sad were now filled with a kind of cautious joy…for Jody couldn't quite believe that this wonderful world in which she now lived wouldn't be taken away from her. The Titus sisters had bought her plenty of pretty skirts and blouses, and even a frilly dress for church, a deep wine color that brought out the color in Jody's cheeks. Altogether she was blossoming into a lovely young lady, and Jane laughed a little to see Punch Garland and Ding-Dong Bell trying to impress her…and fighting over who would sit next to her at the bonfire.

Mother was amazed at all of Jane's friends.

"I had no idea you knew so many people, Jane," she said, looking a little dazed after Mrs. Jimmy John brought over a pie and a loaf of bread to "tide them over," she said. "Your letters were always full of your friends, but somehow I just didn't realize…"

"It's so easy to be friends with people here," Jane said with satisfaction. "They'll all love you, too, Mummy, once they've gotten to know you a bit."

"I knew some of them…once," Mother said, laughing a little. "I suppose it's time I renewed my old acquaintances."

Most of the Islanders didn't quite know what to make of Mother…she was so dainty, and lovely, and so hopelessly inefficient in the home!

"Is your mother an angel?" the Ella twin asked Jane in awe.

"No…she's sweeter," Jane answered.

But Mother didn't put on any airs, and was so thankful for any advice or help, that people soon warmed up to her. Besides, she was _sweet_. Jane couldn't imagine anyone…except perhaps Aunt Irene…not loving Mother.

Even the Snowbeams decided they liked her once they saw her helping Jane and her father dig clams. Mother's dress was kilted up to her knees, she was barefoot and laughing, and her hair sparkled like rings of gold in the sunlight. Anyone who could dig clams that effectively, _and_ still be pretty, _had_ to be all right.

Young Millicent Mary, who was so in awe of Jane, was even more awed by Mother. She hardly tore her fascinated eyes from her once during the bonfire celebration. Mother was a little nervous around this staring creature at first, but as the evening wore on, she sat down next to Millicent Mary and told her the prettiest story all about sea nymphs and a human prince.

After that, there was hardly a day that Millicent Mary wasn't at Lantern Hill. She followed Mother around like a little dog, not saying anything, just simply gazing up at her in adoration.

Jane was so happy to be back that she wondered how her skin could contain her. Laying in her spool bed at night, watching the polished, silver moon float across the deep sky, she felt she must slip out of herself and float away with it, she was so happy. Knowing that both Mother and Dad were down the hall…that they would never be separated again…that everything was as it should be…was almost too much to take in.

She felt as though she needed to check on Mother a dozen times a day, just to make sure she was still there…that it wasn't all a delicious dream. Whenever Mother was in a different part of the house…upstairs if Jane was downstairs…tidying in Dad's study while Jane was cooking in the kitchen…in her bedroom while Jane was working in the garden…walking down on the shore alone…Jane would suddenly have an urgent need to make sure she was still there.

Mother just laughed every time.

"I'm not going anywhere, darling," she said, kissing the top of Jane's head. "We're a family now, and that's how we're going to stay."

A family…Jane never got tired of hearing that word.

* * *

**_Author's Note:_**_ I'm thinking of changing the name of this fic to "Jane of Lakeside Gardens." The original title was a biblical reference to Jane's "cup overflowing," but I'm thinking it might be a little obscure, and not quite "LMM-ish" enough. What do you all think? Let me know in a review (and feel free to give an opinion of the story itself, too)!_


	6. Chapter 6

Contrary to Jane's hopes, Aunt Irene did keep coming around. She was over at least once a week, bearing pies, cakes, and always full of helpful little suggestions. She was so charmingly amused by everything Mother and Jane did, and had the knack of taking all the wind right out of Mother's sails.

The curtains that Mother hemmed and hung in the guest room, the simple white linen curtains she was so proud of (Jane allowed her to replace the yellow net ones she had hung her first summer there), were patronized by Aunt Irene.

"Oh lovey, how _quaint_," she gushed, fiddling with one. "but really, you know, you should have come to me first. Linen doesn't wear _at all_ well…these will be worn out in no time…next time I come I'll bring you some _real_ curtains from town."

Or one of the few times that Jane let Mother make dinner…which, of course, had to be one of the nights Aunt Irene came out unexpectedly. She laughed at the overdone meat and raised her eyebrows smilingly at the underdone potatoes and shook her head and tsked her tongue over the soggy vegetables. Poor Mother, who had really worked hard over that meal, flushed miserably, especially when Aunt Irene ridiculed the wild strawberry shortcake Mother had made and brought out her famous chocolate peppermint cake…dad's favorite, of course.

Or, worst of all, when she came over one of the times they had company…Mr. Ford, the editor of the _Saturday Evening_, and his family were summering on the Island…and graciously acted the hostess, taking credit for the delicately set table…Mother's work…and the delicious roast lamb, creamed peas, new potatoes, and blueberry pie…Jane's work. She never actually _said_ she did it all, but by her responses to Mrs. Ford's compliments, she certainly implied it.

And Dad never noticed a thing! Aunt Irene was perfection in his eyes…a little short-sighted, of course, but never spiteful. He couldn't understand it when Mother timidly tried to ask him to speak to her.

"Why Robin, she's just trying to help," he said wonderingly. "She's awfully lonely, all alone in Charlottetown there, and she likes to feel useful to her family."

Aunt Irene, of course, was constantly getting "offended" over little things Mother would do or say, and would go complain to Dad…and then graciously forgive Mother the next time she visited.

"I know you didn't mean it, lovey…you can't help being your mother's daughter,"…in Dad's presence, Dad who loathed Grandmother above any other human being on earth!

Jane tried to make dad understand, but he was just completely blind when it came to Aunt Irene…_and_ he knew that Jane herself had never gotten on well with Irene, and assumed she was just prejudiced.

It was distressing, but even Aunt Irene's little stings couldn't take away from the sheer joy of having Mother and Dad _together_ at Lantern Hill.

Every fair morning and evening the three of them went swimming together, splashing joyously in the gulf. Mother looked like a sea-nymph in her white skirted suit when she swam. The "spirit of the sea," Dad called her.

She and Jane took long walks all over, Jane proudly showing all her favorite haunts…the wild strawberry patch she and Min had discovered…Hungry Cove, where the Snowbeams lived…the harbor mouth…Little and Big Donald's hills…all having some memory attached to them. How Mother laughed over some of the antics of the Snowbeams and Jimmy Johns! Jane, listening to that bell-like chime, thought there was no lovelier sound in the world…unless it was Dad's voice when he called her "my Jane."

Once a week they dropped everything and went for a drive…just like Dad and Jane had done the previous two summers, only with added pleasure and zest now. Mother loved the Island…loved it as deeply as if she had been born there.

On Sundays Mother and Jane went to the old south church together. They could never convince Dad to come with them…he said he worshipped God best in the outdoors…but Jane nearly burst with pride at having Mother there with her. The prettiest woman on the Island! An old woman whispered that once, and Jane overheard and quite agreed.

And Sunday evenings, when Jane went to the sing-songs at the Jimmy Johns', Mother and Dad would be waiting for her when she'd come back, sitting so cozily together in the stone seat in the garden.

Jody came to the sing-songs, too, and Punch and Ding-Dong always escorted her back to the Titus sisters', leaving Jane to walk home alone. She didn't mind it…at those times she was so full of happiness that it seemed indecent to spoil it with anyone's company.

Out of all the family outings, what Jane liked best were Saturday nights. They would go down to the shore and light a driftwood fire, and Dad would read poetry. Sometimes, if he was too tired, Jane would recite, and once in a while Mother would read something. She didn't have the knack for making words _live_, like Dad, but her voice was so beautiful that it didn't matter.

Then they would let the fire die down to embers, and lay back on the sand and watch the stars…it was utterly beautiful. Jane lived through many of Aunt Irene's delicate little jabs in the anticipation of Saturday nights.

It was perfect, just perfect. Mother sang from morning to night, her golden voice filling Lantern Hill with liquid joy. Dad would write in his study with the door open, just to hear her, and Jane, cooking and cleaning and polishing away, smiled happily. She felt so sorry for every girl who didn't have parents like hers!


	7. Chapter 7

The young fry of Lantern Corners and the Queen's Shore were getting up a circus. The lion Jane had captured last summer had tickled their fancies, and they decided to try their own hands at it.

To be sure, none of them had ever actually _been_ to a circus, but that didn't daunt Jane, though Penny was somewhat scornful at first.

"If we haven't ever seen a circus, how can we put on a good one?" he sneered.

"_Some_ of us have imaginations," Jane answered superbly. "I can imagine a perfectly wonderful circus, can't you, Min?"

Min nodded wisely. "I think it's _better_ that we haven't seen one," she announced. "This way we can make it up as we go along, and do it our _own_ way."

The two girls put their arms around each other and stuck their chins out at Penny.

His derision collapsed under the weight of their defiance. "Well, all right, then," he grumbled. "But I still think it won't work."

"As if we cared what you thought," sniffed Caraway, coming up with her arms full of wooden balls. "Jane, I found these in our garret. Can we paint them and use them for juggling balls, do you think?"

"Of course," said Jane, taking charge in her capable way. "Just leave it to me."

Jane was to be ringmaster, of course, and Jody was going to play the piano. She protested at first, saying she hadn't taken music lessons long enough, but as she was the only one of the crowd who had _any_ musical talent at all, she was overruled.

Penny was pacified by being told he could do a strong man act … Polly and Caraway were practicing as jugglers … Punch was working up a magic show … Min and Shingle were the acrobats … and Young John and Ding-Dong were putting together a clown routine.

The younger Jimmy Johns … Ella and George and Millicent Mary … were not allowed to participate.

"We need an audience, you see," Jane explained to the rebellious George twin. "If everyone is _in_ the circus, then we won't have anyone left to watch. Your roles are very important."

This seemed to satisfy them, and the plans went ahead. Jane, rummaging through some old trunks at Lantern Hill, found an old top hat that had apparently belonged to her Great-Grandfather Stuart. It was dusty and moth-eater, but still fine for a circus ringmaster.

The Titus sisters, pleased that Jody was having such wholesome fun with her friends, offered to make them some costumes … beautiful spangled things, shimmering with the little pieces of old tin Jane and Jody collected for ornamentation.

Min's ma didn't have time to help the young folk out, and Mrs. Snowbeam just shook her head, muttering something like: "stick at nothing …," but Mrs. Jimmy John offered to make refreshments.

"And what can I do to help?" Mother asked Jane.

"Could you help us rehearse?" Jane asked matter-of-factly. "Min and Shingle keep getting tangled and bump into each other … Punch's magic tricks aren't working … the clown aren't quite funny enough yet … and I can't be everywhere at once."

If she couldn't, it was the first anyone on the Queen's Shore had heard of it, but if Mother suspected Jane of making up tasks for her, she made no comment, but gladly began helping with rehearsals, choreographing a routine for Min and Shingle, encouraging Caraway and Polly with the juggling, giving Punch little hints about his tricks, and just generally being useful.

Jane's heart swelled at having Mother there helping. Whether she was laughing at the clowns, showing Jody how to hold her fingers for some of the trickier pieces, or just standing on the sidelines watching, she added light and joy to all the proceedings. Jane wondered how she'd possibly been happy on the Island without Mother!

They came together nearly every day to rehearse. Jane was a demanding taskmaster, insisting they be nearly perfect before the day of the big performance.

"Why've we got to be perfect?" grumbled Penny, hopping up and down on one foot while rubbing the other. He had dropped the log he was using as a dumbbell on his foot while trying to balance it with one hand.

Jane glared at him. "Do you want this to be a good show or not?"

"Of course, but I thought this was for _fun_."

Jane considered. Perhaps she _was_ pushing too hard. "All right," she conceded. "I guess we're good enough."

"We're _better_ than good," boasted Ding-Dong and Young John, making grotesque faces at the girls. "We're the best."

"Everyone go home and get some rest," Jane ordered. "Tomorrow is the big performance!"

The next morning was a typical P.E.I. June day: a clear blue sky with one or two fluffy white clouds arching overhead; dew sparkling on the fresh green grass underfoot; a hint of coolness in the air, promising to turn to warmth as the sun rose higher; and all the birds in Canada singing with the joy of existence.

Jane sang too as she hurried into her dress, snatched up her top hat, and flew downstairs to kiss Mother before leaving.

Mother had been hoping to attend, after watching all the rehearsals, but Dad had unexpectedly invited the Fords over for dinner again, and she had to stay home and be the hostess. Jane had already prepared the meal … all Mother had to do was warm it up in the oven when the guests arrived … and make a strawberry shortcake, her and Jane's favorite dessert.

She was in the kitchen, picking over wild strawberries, when Jane came in. Under most circumstances, Jane would have liked to stay for the Fords … Mr. Ford was always ready with a joke and a smile, and Mrs. Ford was sweet and fun, while their four children were simply darling … but today, the excitement of the circus blotted everything else from her mind.

"Have a wonderful time, darling," said Mother. "Tell me all about it tonight."

"I will," Jane called as she raced out the door.

She picked up Min at the crossroads, the two of them met Jody hurrying from Brook Valley, and all three ran laughing to the Jimmy Johns' old, unused barn, where the circus was to take place.

Step-a-yard, good-naturedly amused over the "kids' doings," had brought over the Titus sisters' piano early that morning … solemnly promising Miss Violet to take extreme caution with it … and Jody sat right down and rattled off a few scales.

Min turned one or two somersaults, by way of warming up, and Jane stood in the middle of the floor and practiced her introductions. Really, it was quite thrilling to be the ringmaster of a circus. She looked up past the old, dusty stalls and into the lofty rafters, imagining a crowd of people there watching them.

The Snowbeams arrived next, and then Ding-Dong, but the Jimmy Johns, whose barn it was, and who should have been there first, never came.

The rest of the children kept exchanging uneasy glances as the sun rose higher and higher in the sky, and finally Jane stepped forward.

"I'm going to go see what's keeping them," she announced. "Who's coming with me?

It appeared nobody wanted to be left behind, so they formed up into a body and marched boldly up to the house.

Polly and Millicent Mary were sitting glumly on the porch railing.

"Where are the others? Why aren't you at the barn? What's happened?" everyone cried, crowding around.

Polly stood up. "The twins left this morning to go _play by themselves_ in the woods!" she stated indignantly. "George told ma that we older ones could have our old circus, he and Ella didn't care a pin-penny for it! Punch is off looking for them right now."

They all stared, aghast. This was a blow! How could they put on a circus with no audience? Millicent Mary hardly counted. For a moment, they all stared at each other in dismay, Jane included.

"I told you this wouldn't work," moaned Penny.

"Hush up," snapped Caraway. "Trust Ella and George to ruin everything!"

"What are we going to _do_, Jane?" asked Jody.

They all turned to her hopefully. Jane's mind was a perfect blank for a minute or two, and then she had a brilliant stroke of inspiration.

"Everyone back to the barn!" she cried. "Polly, find Punch and tell him to forget about the twins. I'm going to get us an audience!"

With that, she took off running toward Lantern Hill, leaving a bewildered group of children behind her.

"Do you suppose she's going to magic up some people to come watch?" whispered Young John in awe.

"Who knows?" replied Shingle, with a shrug. With Jane, _anything_ was possible.

Back at Lantern Hill, Jane saw with relief that the Fords' car was already there. That had been her one fear, that they wouldn't have arrived yet. She burst into the garden, where Mother and Mrs. Ford were admiring her flowers. They both looked up in surprise.

"Why, Jane," said Mother. "Is everything all right, darling? I thought you would have started the circus by now."

"Circus?" inquired Mrs. Ford, her eyes flickering briefly up to Jane's head.

With a start, Jane realized she still had Great-Grandfather Stuart's top hat on. She blushed, but spoke quickly. This was an emergency: no time for vanity.

"We've had a … problem … with the audience, Mummy," she explained briefly. "Mrs. Ford, might I … borrow your children for the afternoon? My friends and I are getting up a bit of a circus, and we would like them to come watch."

Mrs. Ford stood up briskly. She was taller than Mother, with reddish-brown hair and a delightful smile. Jane often thought that, if she couldn't have Mummy for a mother, she would like someone with a smile like Mrs. Ford's.

"Jane, I haven't been to a circus in years … not since Gilly was little. Would you mind if I came along as well? Robin, dinner won't be ready for a little while yet, will it?"

"Not at all," Mother answered, standing up as well. "I was rather hoping to see it myself."

Jane was flustered at first. It was one thing to have Mother, who would be loving and kind no matter what, come watch, or the children, who would be pleased by anything, but it was another to let the sophisticated Mrs. Ford see their homegrown affair.

Then her eyes began to sparkle. They would just have to make sure it was up to her standards, that was all! This was better than having George and Ella come; this was a _real_ challenge.

"Just follow me," she said equably.

Mrs. Ford's eyes danced. "Oh, this will be fun. Come Gilly, girls, Teddy! We're going to see a circus."

The children ran up, squealing, and their mother nodded at Jane. "Lead on, my friend."

Standing huddled outside the barn, the young fry were astounded to see Jane, top hat perched jauntily atop her russet head, leading two grown women and four children across the fields to the barn.

Caraway dug an elbow into Penny's side. "Aren't you glad Jane made us practice so much?"

"Oh, shut your head," he growled.

The seven members of the audience seated themselves on the crude benches the children had formed of boards and barrels, and Jane, smiling triumphantly, proceeded to conduct the best circus Lantern Corners had ever seen.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she announced, in her best recital voice, to the accompaniment of Jody on the piano, "It is my very great pleasure to present to you the Lantern Corners Circus Performers!" There was a burst of applause from the sideline, and Jane continued. "To start things off, please welcome Young John and Elmer, the funniest clowns to ever amuse an audience,"

Here the clowns entered, waggling their ears and sticking their tongues out. Little Teddy Ford giggled and clapped his hands, and even Gilly, the eldest son, who was somewhat scornful of a homemade circus, couldn't help but laugh when they fell all over their own feet … poured a bucket of water on each other's head … got stuck in the then-empty pail … and went leaping and rolling back out.

Min and Shingle were next, performing their twists and tumbles with remarkable skill, the spangles on their costumes glittering in the barn's half-light.

Mrs. Ford was delighted with them, as well as Polly and Caraway's juggling act. "I had no idea we had so much talent hidden away on this Island," she declared, clapping enthusiastically.

Penny's strong man routine got "oohs" from Gilly and Teddy, and Punch's magic show enchanted the twin girls.

Inspired by the presence of two glamorous women, the children put on their very best performances. Jane's quick eye saw that Mrs. Ford was truly entertained; she wasn't putting on an act to "humor" them.

A piano solo by Jody … which she had not wanted to do, but the rest insisted upon … finished the show, and then performers and audience mingled together and devoured Mrs. Jimmy John's refreshments.

"So much for dinner," said Mother ruefully.

Mrs. Ford plied them with compliments, and even Gilly admitted that it was as good as something he and his cousins could get up.

"And you, young lady, have quite a talent," Mrs. Ford said to Jody. "I hope you develop it."

Jody blushed with pleasure and murmured something indistinct.

Finally, tired but proud, they all scattered to their respective homes, promising to get together to talk over their triumphs the next day. Jane took little Teddy by the hand and followed Mother, Mrs. Ford, and the other three, up toward Lantern Hill, where the figures of Dad and Mr. Ford could just be made out against the house.

"Wondering where we are, no doubt," said Mother.

"Wondering where their dinner is, more likely," responded Mrs. Ford.

Trailing behind slightly, Jane saw the George twin wriggling out of the trees nearby.

"Yah!" he shouted, running up to her. "So much for your old circus! Wasn't much good without me and Ella, was it?"

Jane smiled disdainfully at him, but it was Mrs. Ford, looking back for her baby, who answered.

"Why, were you supposed to be there? It's a shame you missed it; it was really quite wonderful."

"And the food was good, too!" piped up Gilly, rubbing his stomach.

George's face fell when he realized that not only had the circus gone ahead as planned, but he had missed out on the refreshments, as well.

Mrs. Ford winked at Jane.

"Never mind, George," said that young lady composedly. "Maybe you can come watch next time … if we ever decide to do another show."

She left him standing, frustrated, in the middle of the road, and helped Teddy up the hill, feeling quite satisfied with the day's work.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **Just a little light-hearted fun for this one. This chapter was inspired by and dedicated to my dad and his siblings, who "got up" a circus of their own when they were kids._


	8. Chapter 8

Jane thought she'd never seen a summer fly by quite as quickly as this one. With one part of her, she dreaded leaving Lantern Hill again, but with the other, she was looking forward to returning to Lakeside Gardens. The few weeks they had spent there in the spring hadn't truly been enough time to get acquainted with it, and Jane was afraid that by now the Westins would have forgotten about her.

She was eagerly anticipating renewing her friendship with Mr. Kendall, as well. He was such an _interesting_ man, with sides to his character Jane was sure no one had yet seen … sure, as well, that _she_ could draw them out.

Then too, Aunt Irene was becoming a bit more unbearable every time she visited. It had gotten to the point where even Dad hated to see her coming up the drive … not because he finally recognized her manipulations (Jane had resigned herself to the fact that Aunt Irene was Dad's perennial blind spot) … but because of the tension that sang in the air throughout her visits.

She was always gushing and patronizing, with clever little snubs hidden under every compliment. It took all Mother's grace to brush them off. Jane did her best to distract Aunt Irene from Mother, but between the three of them … it was no wonder Dad noticed the tension.

Typically, he blamed Mother for it … with a little blame left over for Jane. Mother refused to defend herself or say anything bad about Aunt Irene, and Jane foresaw that she was going to have to do something in the future to resolve this problem. If only she knew what!

For now, though, she was just thankful for the temporary reprieve going to Toronto would give them.

In the meantime, she made the most of the days she had left with her friends. From working in the garden to swimming in the ocean to painting the Titus sisters' shed, not a day went by that they weren't up to something.

Mon, inspired by Jane's garden, and wanting to do something to help her ma, had started a garden of her own that summer. At first, she just planned to plant flowers and sell the nosegays to tourists for a penny apiece, but Jody had suggested planting vegetables, as well. Jane followed that idea up with one of her own, of setting up a stand by one of the main roads, so anyone passing by could see it and stop for fresh vegetables and flowers.

Min eagerly agreed to this, and all summer long, the three girls had tended the garden and run the stand with great ease and business-sense … and a good deal of fun.

The Titus sisters had been doubtful at first about the propriety of Jody selling vegetables by the road, but they decided it was acceptable since she was doing it to help a friend, not for her own pecuniary advantage.

Aunt Irene, of course, was shocked and horrified the first time she, in driving to Lantern Hill, saw Jane sitting imperturbably next to a sign bearing the legend:

"Flowers – Fresh Vegetables – Picked Today – For Sale."

She tried to persuade Dad of how very bad it looked to have dear Janie selling things in the street … just like any beggar child! … but he laughed off her fussing, saying that Jane was old enough to know for herself what was right and wrong.

As for Jane, Aunt Irene's disapproval bothered her not one whit. In fact, it was highly possibly, if not probable, that her enjoyment of the whole venture was only increased by the horror it caused her aunt.

Which did not speak volumes for Dad's opinion of her moral compass!

Still, it was "loads of fun," as Jody said, and by early August they had earned enough that Min's ma could get Min a new winter dress.

"My old one's too tight, and since I shot up this summer, it's two inches too short," Min informed Jane and Jody. "I wanted ma to spend the money on herself … but she said I needed it more than she did."

Jane went to the Corners General Store … a fascinating place … with Min and her ma to pick out the fabric for the dress. Min wanted scarlet, while her ma favored plain brown. For a little while, it looked as though they wouldn't be able to come to any kind of agreement (much to the dismay of the overworked and harried clerk), but then Jane came to the rescue by finding a lovely bolt of soft grey wool with little crimson flowers scattered all over it. The bright flowers pleased Min, while the serviceable grey satisfied her ma.

With that out of the way, the girls went to work selling the last of their produce, in hopes of earning enough extra that Min could buy her ma a Christmas present for the first time ever.

The first batch of sweet corn was decorating their stand one sultry day. It was an oppressive, heavy day, with the air hanging hot and still around them.

"My!" exclaimed Jody, hanging limply in her chair (a few boards balanced on some old milk crates), "I didn't think it ever got this hot on the Island … only in Toronto."

Even bright-eyed Min was drooping in the stifling air. "It don't, usually. Every now and then, though, we get a real scorcher."

Jane said nothing. Her eyes were fixed on the distant blue glimmer of the gulf, and she was thinking longingly of splashing in the foam-tipped waves with Mother. Only her loyalty to Min … and her innate natural stubbornness … kept her from suggesting they take the stand down for the day.

The other two girls kept looking at her hopefully, as though silently urging her to speak up, but so long as she was silent, neither of them would mention quitting.

The morning wore on, and the girls were in a sort of dazed stupor, when a smart new Ford Model 18 pulled over and stopped before them. They perked up a bit as a young couple, the man sporting a bottle-green blazer, the woman teetering on impossibly high heels, stepped out.

Min stared at the woman's scarlet mouth, powdered white face, and platinum blond curls in unabashed wonder. Jane and Jody, somewhat more familiar with this couple's type, were merely curious, though Jody couldn't help but feel a bit of a pang as she contrasted her simple checked cotton dress to the lady's cheap smartness.

Jane straightened her drooping shoulders and assumed her business face. "May I help you?" she asked politely.

"Oh, aren't you girls too cute?" gushed the young woman in a distinctly Yankee accent, clasping her hands together. "What are you selling?"

"Sweet corn, ma'am," Min answered, standing up straighter herself. "Fresh picked, first thing this morning."

"Oo-ooh," the lady squealed, tottering on her heels. "Oh, Roj, I've never had fresh corn before. Oh honey-boy, can't we buy some? Please?"

The man smiled indulgently. "Why sure, sweetie-pie. Anything for you. How much, kids?"

While Jane ground her teeth and tried to ignore his patronizing tone, Jody and Min handled the business transaction.

"Now," said the lady, once the corn was in her possession. "How do you … you know … cook it?"

The three girls blinked. "Don't you know?" Min asked blankly.

The man laughed. "We're from New York City. Swell city, New York, but this is our first time in the country. I don't think I've ever seen vegetables that didn't come from a can before."

"We just got married," simpered the woman, clinging to her husband's arm. "We're here on our honeymoon."

"My boss recommended this place," the man took up the tale again. "We've been staying in Charlottetown. We're heading home tomorrow, but Ruthie here wanted to tour the countryside before leaving."

For just a moment, Ruthie lost her cheap sentimentality and artificial gush and allowed some real emotion to shine through her soft brown eyes. "It's just beautiful here," she murmured. "I've never seen anything like it. You kids sure are lucky to live here. It just feels like … home."

Jane's heart softened toward the crude strangers. After all, they couldn't help being city folk.

Ruthie continued, her false little laugh tinkling out. "Roger thought it'd be fun to have a little picnic, but the hotel wouldn't give us a box lunch."

Roger put his arm around her. "Never you mind, sugar-plum. At least we've got our real Prince Edward Island corn to take back home with us. I'm sure we can figure out a way to cook it over the gas ring in our apartment."

Sympathy for them tore down all the antipathy Jane had toward them. _She_ knew what it was like to live in a place where you couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything for yourself, couldn't _live_.

"Don't wait until you get home," she said impulsively. "Min, Jody, close up shop and take our friends down to the shore. I'll run home to Lantern Hill and put together some supplies." She smiled brilliantly at the two startled Americans. "We'll give you a picnic after all."

Before anyone could do so much as blink, Jane was gone, heedless of the heat, her long legs flashing through the red dust as she hurried home. Lantern Hill was deserted (Mother and Dad were off on some expedition of their own), and Jane wasted no time in putting together a nice little picnic punch for the Americans. She sliced up a full loaf of her homemade bread, using the cold chicken left in the icebox from last night's dinner to make sandwiches; packed up some fruit and vegetables in a basket; added a batch of cookies she had made the previous day for the Snowbeams; filled a thermos with ice-cold lemonade; and as a final touch, added a large pot in which to cook the sweet corn.

Her arms laden down with goodies, she made her way quickly but cautiously to the shore, where Min had already kindled a small fire in a sheltered cove. Jody was picking up driftwood to keep it well-stocked, and the Americans, Roger and Ruthie, were paddling in the surf, Roger with his flashy trousers rolled up to the knee like a schoolboy, and Ruthie, divested of her high heels and cheap stockings, giggling like a little girl.

"Say …" drawled Roger, coming over to help Jane unload her parcels. "You kids sure are swell. You didn't have to go to all this trouble for us."

"This is just like a dream come true," added Ruthie, her curls blown about her face by the fresh sea wind.

"Everyone ought to have all their dreams come true on their honeymoon," laughed Jane, realizing in a sudden flash that Mother and Dad had never had a real honeymoon … she would have to see about arranging one for them soon … surely they deserved that, after all these years.

Ruthie watched with fascination as the corn was shucked and tossed into the pot of boiling sea water. "There," Jane said. "Now we just have to let it boil a few minutes, and then it will be ready to eat."

"Just like that?" the young bride said, wide-eyed. "I had no idea it was so easy to cook." She looked at her husband with a longing gaze. "Oh Roj, maybe someday we can have our own little house in the country, and I can do all kinds of cooking for you."

"Sure thing, sugar," Roger laughed. "As soon as this Depression is out of the way and I get a raise, OK?"

Jane shooed them back to the water, and she and the other two girls set up the rest of the picnic, right down to the checked cloth she had remembered last minute to bring!

The corn proved delicious when it was done, as did everything else. The five of them did full justice to Jane's good food, and she was amazed at how nice and … _real_ … Ruthie and Roger seemed, once one got past their superficial exterior. Ruthie worked as a shop girl in a large department store in the city, but longed to be able to stay home and take care of a home and raise a family,

"Like Momma did," she sighed, leaning back on her elbows with a contended sigh. "If only Roj didn't have to work in that loathsome old office! Roj, don't you think you could be a farmer?"

" 'Fraid I've no experience, baby-doll," Roger said, an amused look on his floridly handsome face. "Besides, a fellow can't make a living as a farmer anymore. Nope, I'll just have to keep plugging away at the office, and hope in time to get a big enough promotion that you won't have to work anymore. Then maybe we can get a house out on Long Island, hmm?" He looked around with a slightly wistful expression. "Sure wouldn't mind a job that kept me outdoors most of the time, though."

"Couldn't you work as a groundskeeper for some wealthy businessman or something?" Jane offered, thinking of some of Grandmother's friends. They all had extensive staff to keep their immaculate grounds looking sharp.

Ruthie sat up, startled. "Why Roj, there's an idea for you! You know Mr. Plimpken has an estate upstate somewhere, and he's always complaining that he doesn't have enough help around the place."

"And you wouldn't need much experience for that," Jane continued.

Roger dropped the cigarette he had just raised to his lips. "You know, kid, you might be onto something. Old Plimpken … that's my boss … always says I don't really have what it takes for a businessman. And Ruthie, you could work on the indoor staff, just until we had enough for a little house of our own."

"Oh, Roj," Ruthie clasped her hands together. "Just to get out of the city … which is swell for a single gal, but really too, too stifling for me now that I'm not going to parties with the girls from the store … oh, you have to talk to Mr. Plimpken about it when we get back."

Roger ground his cigarette into the sand decisively with his heel. "I will!" he announced. "I'm sick to death of that old office, and that old city, anyway." He looked at his watch and let out a low whistle. "Say, baby-doll, we gotta hurry back to the hotel and get our things packed if we want to leave on time tomorrow morning." He turned to the girls. "You kids have been great, really." He began to pull out a roll of bills from his blazer pocket. "Let me give you a little reimbursement for your troubles."

"Nonsense!" said Jane robustly. "We could never accept money for being _neighborly_. It was out pleasure to give you a real Prince Edward Island picnic."

Min and Jody nodded vigorously, backing her up, though Min cast a somewhat wistful look at the cash Roger put back in his pocket.

"I guess I can't argue with that," he grinned. "Thanks a million. You've made this vacation a real treat."

Ruthie stopped and swiftly hugged each of them, pecking their cheeks with her ruby lips. "Thanks," she whispered to Jane. "I'll never forget this day."

With that, the two hurried back to their car, parked just off the beach. The three girls watched them roar off in a cloud of exhaust.

"Well!" said Jody, summing up all their feelings. "That was different, and no mistake!"

* * *

_**Author's Note: **I've been shamefully lax on updating this. What can I say? Meggie tends to be an absorbing little heroine. But I promise not to neglect Jane quite so much in the future. And for those of you who have asked, yes, Jane will feature in Meggie's story ... sometime!_


	9. Chapter 9

All too soon, August's golden afternoons turned into September's misty blue mornings, and the Stuarts left the Island for Toronto's busy streets. Jane hated to say goodbye to Lantern Hill, but it was easier than usual this year, because this year Dad was going with her. Thinking of him staying there all by himself had been the hardest thing for her to bear the previous years.

Silver Penny and Peter didn't care much for the ferry or the train, but Bubbles and Happy proved themselves excellent travelers, neither barking nor leaping on the other passengers. Jane held Silver Penny firmly in her lap, while Mother and Dad took turns keeping Peter. At one point on the train, when Silver Penny hissed angrily at a passing boy and nearly squirmed out of Jane's grip, Jane and Mother's eyes met and laughed to each other, remembering the incident with the Persian-who-wasn't-Snowball.

The house at Lakeside Gardens was just as loving and welcoming as ever. "_Here_ you are!" it seemed to call to Jane. "I've been waiting for you all summer. Where have you been?" Its very windows appeared to wink reproachfully at her.

"Don't worry," she murmured secretly, patting the front door while Dad brought in the luggage and Mother settled the animals. "We're here now, and we'll be here for a good long while."

The Westins proved that they had _not_ forgotten about Jane by coming over in a body an hour after the Stuarts arrived, bearing flowers for Mother (Edwin), a picture of Myrna Loy for Jane's bedside table (Abbie), and a casserole for dinner from Mrs. Westin (born with great care by Colby).

"Say, Jane," said Eden, her dark eyes snapping with excitement, her silky brown bob brushing against her jaw as she spoke, "I'm glad you're back. I talked Mother into hosting a Hallow'een party, but I need help planning it out. Abbie," rolling her eyes expressively at her older sister, "Is no help at all."

"I'd love to help," beamed Jane, after she had politely thanked Abbie for the picture (although she could have cared less about screen stars, she didn't want to be rude). "You'll have to come over some day this week so we can make plans."

"I'll help, too!" shouted Tracy. Three years younger than Eden, but four years older than the demure Marilyn, he insisted on tagging along after his older sister everywhere she went. Eden hated having a shadow, but Tracy was persistent.

"We don't want your help, Trace," she told him now.

The cheerful, slightly plump face fell. Jane, who had something of a soft spot for the roly-poly boy, hastened to reassure him. "I'm sure we'll come up with something for you to do, Tracy," she soothed him.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," said exasperated Eden. "Don't coddle him, Jane, you'll only make him worse."

Abbie nudged her. "Enough talking, Edie. Can't you see that the Stuarts are tired? You can come back and play with Jane later."

"I don't _play_, Abbie …" Eden started to protest, but the older girl herded her firmly out the door, grimacing apologetically at Mother and Dad.

Jane stood at the door to watch them go, Marilyn dancing alongside Tracy, Eden complaining volubly, and Colby hanging behind. To her surprise, as the other five reached the street, Colby suddenly turned back and darted back up the walk.

"Did you forget something?" Jane asked politely. Colby alone out of all of them was quiet; she didn't really know him at all.

"No," he said gruffly. "I just wanted to say … I'm glad you're back." Flushing deep crimson all over his face, he turned and ran down the path as hurriedly as he'd come up.

Jane closed the door, somewhat confused. Mother was behind her, looking at her as though for the first time.

"Is everything all right, Mummy?"

Mother started. "Yes, of course, my darling." She smiled brightly. "Let's go eat, shall we? It was very kind of Mrs. Westin to think of us. I'll have to make her acquaintance soon."

Putting her arm around Jane, she steered her daughter into the dining room, where Dad was trying to find tableware. In the excitement of unpacking the dishes and flatware, Jane forgot all about that odd look on Mother's face.

It came back to haunt her again, though, later that night. Jane was snuggling cozily into her alcoved bed, drawing the curtains round just for fun, when Mother came in to kiss her goodnight.

"Isn't it splendid to be _here_ … just the three of us, Mummy?" Jane asked enthusiastically. _Instead of at 60 Gay_, she was thinking, but she didn't want to hurt Mother by bringing up her estrangement with Grandmother.

"Yes it is, my love." Mother sat down on the side of the bed, smoothing Jane's hair back from her forehead with a cool, gentle hand. "Jane, my dear one, how well do you know the Westins?"

Jane wrinkled her nose. "I don't know. I met them last spring, when we were here. Why?" A cold pang struck her heart. "Don't you like them?"

Mother smiled. "I think they are very … energetic … and probably very good friends for you. I just wish I knew a bit more about them, that's all. I don't want you to get hurt."

"How could they hurt me?" Jane asked in genuine confusion.

Mother sighed and smiled. "Are you closer to any one of them in particular over the others?"

Jane shrugged her shoulders under the blankets. "Eden, maybe. She's very nice, Mummy, really. She doesn't always think before she speaks," honestly, "but she's not slangy or rude, even if she is a bit … blunt. And she's really very good-hearted."

"No one else?"

Jane didn't understand what Mother was getting at. "Tracy's a dear, and Marilyn and Edwin are sweet, but …"

Something very like relief crossed Mother's face. "Well, I'm sure they are good friends for you, Jane. I'm probably just over-protective." She leaned and kissed Jane. "Mothers don't always like to admit that their children are growing up, you know."

Jane hugged Mother fiercely. "No matter how old I get, I'll always be your girl, Mummy … yours and Dad's."

"Here now," Dad's voice came softly from the open door. "Is this a family moment without me?"

"Not quite, Dad," Jane said, freeing one arm as he came closer to include him in the hug. "Now it's complete," she finished with satisfaction.

"My two girls," Dad said softly, kissing their heads.

"My dear ones," Mother added.

_My family_, Jane said to herself.

* * *

_**Author's Note**: Another fairly short chapter, but as it is more of a filler to get us from PEI to Toronto, it'll have to suffice. the next one should be longer--provided the muse stays with me, and doesn't go flitting off as she often does. Hope you enjoy, and remember: reviews make me update faster!_


	10. Chapter 10

Before the week was out, Jane visited Mrs. Kane. The young widow was delighted to see her, and insisted on showing Jane all around her lovely home, describing all the changes she had made since last spring. Jane was properly admiring, though secretly she thought that it couldn't quite match to _her_ home, and then the two of them settled in for a nice cup of tea and some of Mrs. Kane's delectable shortbread cookies at the big table in the sunny, inviting kitchen.

"There's something so chummy about sitting in the kitchen, isn't there?" Mrs. Kane said, waving her hand expressively in the air. "A dining room is so formal … a parlor stifles heartfelt conversation … but a kitchen just invites conversation and confidences."

"And that way you can keep an eye on anything you have cooking," added practical Jane.

Mrs. Kane laughed girlishly. "Exactly so," she agreed merrily.

The kitchen _was_ a delightful room … large, simple, with sunlight pouring in the windows and dancing on the tiled floor, a huge old-fashioned wood cookstove at one end, and the table in the middle, perfectly situated for fetching anything one needed without having to take more than a couple steps in any direction.

But then, everything about Mrs. Kane's home was delightful. She had named it Elysium, saying it was a paradisiacal resting place for her, and it truly was soothing and peaceful. The rooms were large and furnished with simplicity and ease, the colors complementary and harmonious, the few knick-knacks and pictures beautiful and interesting. Jane thought, if she couldn't live at Lantern Hill or her own dear Lakeside Gardens home (for which she was still trying to think of an appropriate name), she would like to live at Elysium. It was a house that welcomed you … a home that made you forget any troubles for a little while … a place that cared nothing for the outside world.

In that, it was a reflection of its mistress. Mrs. Kane herself was the most restful person Jane knew. She never seemed rushed or disturbed by anything, never flurried or flustered. She had a sly wit and sparkling vivacity, though few ever saw it. Although most people who knew her felt bad for the blows life had dealt her, she scorned pity, and preferred to avoid society altogether, rather than face its assumption that anyone who had lived through what she had must be miserable.

"They tend to resent the fact that I can still be happy," she confided to Jane. "And I resent their pity, so everyone is much happier overall if I just refuse invitations to parties and dinners, and stay here in Elysium. Perhaps they think I'm rude by never hosting any affairs myself, but really, I can't be bothered with what they think!"

Today, she wanted to hear all about Jane's summer. She laughed until tears entered her eyes at the account of the circus, applauded the picnic with the Yankees, and delighted in all the summer activities … swimming, fishing, working in the garden or helping in the fields, berrying with Min and Jody, taking long walks in the woods … all of it sounded heavenly to the city-bound widow.

"Not that my summer was dreadful, by any stretch of the imagination," she assured Jane. "I've discovered a fondness for art, so most pleasant days I would take my sketchbook and pencils and go down to the Humber to draw the boats. Some days I just wandered around the ravines and drew whatever I could find. Shall I show you?"

"Yes, please," said Jane, keenly interested. She set her teacup down to look closer at the sketchbook Mrs. Kane laid before her.

Rough sketches though they were, every one had a graceful and clean line to it. Most were typical scenes any amateur artist would attempt … a young couple punting down the river, a little bunch of wild columbine, a bee hovering over a rose, lilies and rushes by the water's edge … but one in particular stood out.

It was of a man standing on the opposite side of the riverbank, fishing. His line was cast out high above the water, he was in the river up to his knees, his hat was pushed back on his head, and sheer joy was captured on his face. Mrs. Kane had drawn it so that everything else was muted and soft, while the man's figure stood out boldly, with strong lines and angles.

"I like this _very_ much," Jane said, setting it aside.

To her surprise, Mrs. Kane blushed. "Oh … that one," she said. "That one's not very good … I was just letting my mind wander, saw him, and the next thing I knew, there was the sketch. Here, look at this one … it's _much_ better."

Jane obediently took up the indicated sketch, a sweet portrait of little Edwin Westin, but the thought remained in the back of her mind that the fisherman in the former picture had looked remarkably like Mr. Kendall.

The two ladies enjoyed their tea and chat very much, and by the time Jane left Elysium, dusk was starting to wrap her gentle arms around Lakeside Gardens, cloaking the street in a mantle of grey mist.

Jane loved this time of day … the in-between time, when anything and everything seemed possible, and magic and mystery were waiting just around the corner.

She was tingling with the delight of it when she heard a deep, rough voice.

"Well, and you have returned, Jane Stuart!"

She turned to see Mr. Kendall leaning on his front gate, smoking a pipe and scowling at the sky.

"Yes, I have," Jane acknowledged. "How was your summer, Mr. Kendall?"

"Dull," the author said briefly. "But then, every season is dull to me now."

This was rank heresy to Jane. "Dull!" she cried. "Why, there's always something interesting happening, all around. You just have to know how to look for it."

"Ah, that's the trick," said Mr. Kendall, knitting his fierce eyebrows. "I stopped looking a long time ago, when I wanted to forget everything."

Jane shook her head severely. "What did you want to forget?" she inquired.

"Everything," Mr. Kendall said, almost savagely. "Beauty … and youth … and love." He smiled wearily. "And now it's too late. Even if I wanted any of them back, I've forgotten how to look."

Jane executed a half-turn, waving her arm before her. "Just see that," she demanded.

Mr. Kendall followed her motion with his eyes. The dark pines stood out in relief against the twilit sky; the oaks and maples were just starting to turn, their colors gleaming dully in the last light of the day; in the near distance, Lake Ontario beckoned alluringly.

Then, as if Jane had conjured it, he saw the new moon gleaming behind the willows, silvery golden against the grey evening sky. The nearby houses turned from respectable homes to fairy dwellings of light as the darkness slowly covered their details and only left their warm glow to show.

He drew a deep breath. "Yes," he murmured. "Yes … _that_ is beauty. I'd almost forgotten." He fixed Jane with a piercing eye. "How do you do that, girl? I haven't seen the beauty of a rising moon for years. With one sweep of your arm, you made it come alive for me."

Jane positively glowed with satisfaction. "I don't know how I did it," she admitted.

"Ah, but I have a suspicion," Mr. Kendall said, his eyes crinkling in his rare smile. "You take such joy in living yourself … you see beauty and interest in everything, even those abominably ordinary children the Westins … that it exudes out of you and touches all those you come into contact with."

"Do I do that?" Jane asked in wonder. She'd never thought of herself in that way before.

"You are a joy-giver, Jane Stuart," Mr. Kendall declared. "There are precious few of you in the world … don't ever let it go. We need people like you, to counteract the sour curmudgeons like me."

Jane flashed him a saucy smile. "But even sour curmudgeons can be interesting … if you take the time to look."

He laughed dryly. "You are a cheeky thing, girl. Get on with you now, before I remember my reputation as a child-hater and chase you off."

Jane winked audaciously at him and started on her way again. She only went a few steps before remembering something.

"Mr. Kendall," she called.

He was still at his gate, watching her go. "Yes, Joyful Spirit?"

"Do you fish?"

He wrinkled his brow. "Now what on earth … yes, I fish. It's one of the few pleasures left to me. But why do you ask?"

Jane shrugged and ran off, laughing as she went.

"I wonder why Mr. Kendall is so sad," she wondered that evening as she was cleaning up after supper. "What happened to him when he was young that made him want to forget everything? It must have been something dreadful."

Her active young imagination pondered the matter for the next few days, coming up with all sort of amusing and unlikely scenarios, including wrongful imprisonment for murder, being estranged from his family, and living with an unloving and cruel grandmother.

Eden eventually cleared things up. The two girls were walking down the street from Jane's house to Riveredge, the Westins' home, discussing plans for the upcoming Hallow'een party. They passed Mr. Kendall sitting on his front porch, scribbling furiously in a bound book. Jane waved cheerily at him, and he took the time from his writing to wave back.

Eden shuddered. "I don't know how you can be so friendly with him. He scares the dickens out of me!"

"He's not scary," Jane protested. "He's sad. I wish I knew what happened to make him that way."

"Oh, everyone knows _that_," Eden said with the superiority of one who has lived in a place for two full years and knows everything about everybody. "He was engaged to be married to the most beautiful girl in Toronto when he was a young man. He was very handsome then, and everyone said they were a perfect match. But the day before they were supposed to be married, he found out that she had run away with his best friend. He went mad with grief, and cleared out of town that night, never to be seen again until he moved here to Lakeside Gardens a few years ago."

"What happened to his fiancée and friend?" Jane asked breathlessly.

Eden looked around mysteriously. "Well," she said, lowering her voice importantly. "They were both found _dead_ the morning after they ran away together. Some people say that Mr. Kendall killed them, and ran away to escape justice, but I prefer to give him the benefit of the doubt."

Jane dwelt on this surprising revelation for a little while. She knew that Eden had a tendency toward exaggeration, and a love for the dramatic, but even if there was only a kernel of truth in the tale, it was still tragic … and it certainly went a long way toward explaining Mr. Kendall's gloomy outlook on life.

She sighed. It was all very complicated … at the moment she couldn't see a way to help him. And for someone like Jane, that was torture indeed!

* * *

_**Author's Note: **Remember, reviews make my day and help me update faster!_


	11. Chapter 11

The Hallow'een party was a notable success. It was made up mostly of students from Branksome Hall (the girls' school), and Upper Canada College (where Colby and Tracy attended), as well as a few children Jane had gotten to know around the development. Abbie, dressed as a Hollywood screen siren, was in her element, bossing the younger ones around and taking charge of the "best costume" contest.

Bustling, sonsy Mrs. Westin, with little Edwin firmly attached to her side, was stationed by the refreshment table, greeting each guest with her trademark welcoming smile and kind words.

Tracy, a loud, cheerful pirate in the midst of a group of boys from school, was in his element with the various games: bobbing for apples; blind man's bluff; relay races; and the like.

Eden, her dusky beauty highlighted by the Egyptian princess costume she wore, was busy organizing Marilyn (appropriately dressed as a fairy) and her friends into groups for a scavenger hunt. She and Jane had spent two days hiding items and writing out clues, the work accompanied by bursts of giggles as one or the other came up with something they found particularly witty or clever.

Colby (who scorned the idea of "dressing up") was on the back porch with a group of _his_ friends, discussing baseball and hockey and other such "masculine" topics.

Jane, meanwhile, was everywhere at once, brining food out from the kitchen, advising Abbie about prizes for the costumes, helping Marilyn's group decipher one of Eden's more confusing clues, and generally making herself useful. Her costume had come about as the result of a conversation with Mrs. Kane a few days before Hallow'een.

They had been talking about family history, and Jane confessed that she didn't know much about her ancestors.

"Well, there's no doubt that your father's side is Scottish, not with a name like Stuart," said Mrs. Kane briskly. "Who knows, maybe you're even distantly related to royalty. Mary, Queen of Scots, was a Stuart, and her son James became king of England."

Jane laughed. "I doubt I'm a princess, though Dad does call me Queen Jane sometimes."

Mrs. Kane's eyes twinkled merrily. "Perhaps not, but it is fun to imagine. Now, I can trace my family on my mother's side back to Sir Francis Drake, the famous … or infamous … English privateer, but I'm afraid he's the only famous person in my lineage."

Jane rested her chin on her hands, leaning her elbows on the sturdy table. Her marigold eyes turned soft and dreamy as she thought about Queen Elizabeth and her cousin, the tragic Mary Stuart. "What must it have been like to live in those days?" she mused.

"Dangerous," answered Mrs. Kane. "Especially if your surname was Stuart."

Jane came out of her reverie and laughed. "Maybe so, but it still would have been thrilling. I've always been fascinated by Mary, Queen of Scots. I learned in school that when the executioner went to hold her head up to the crowd, the curls came away in his hand, revealing that she was wearing a wig, because her own hair had turned completely grey. Can you imagine what she must have gone through?"

Mrs. Kane shook her head. "She wasn't completely innocent herself, though. She did conspire to take Elizabeth's throne, and she is still strongly suspected in the murder of her own husband."

"Yes, but everything she endured!" Jane pressed. "Besides, none of those accusations have ever been proven. I refuse to believe it."

Mrs. Kane smiled. "Loyal to your family to the end? You know," tilting her head to one side, "I have some old fabric up in my attic that could be made into a marvelous costume from Elizabethan England. Have you chosen a Hallow'een costume yet?"

Jane shook her head.

"Well, then!" Mrs. Kane stood up briskly. "That's settled. From Jane Stuart to Mary Stuart in a few simple steps. Come on," catching Jane's hand girlishly. "Let's go upstairs and start on your costume!"

So it was that Jane appeared on Hallow'een in a black velvet gown with a white neck ruffle, a heart-shaped cap on her russet hair, and a simple gold cross around her neck. Oddly enough, the old-fashioned gown suited her perfectly, bringing out the character of her face and highlighting her strong bones.

Mr. Kendall had watched her walk to the Westins and shook his head.

"There," he said, apropos of nothing, "goes a beautiful woman."

Eden, passing now with another group of giggling little girls, winked at Jane. "I think we're a success, Queen Mary."

Jane set down her tray of punch and straightened her cap. "I believe you're right, Cleopatra."

Eden shook her head impatiently. "How many times must I tell you? _Not_ Cleopatra, but Nefertiti. Remember?"

Jane hid a smile. "Sorry."

Eden truly did look like an Egyptian; her dark eyes outlined in some of Abbie's black eye makeup, her mouth enhanced by red lipstick, her brown hair mostly covered by an elaborate headdress, garbed in white linen with gold bracelets around her wrists and slim brown ankles, and a heavy gold necklace around her throat.

Jane was sure she must be freezing, but if the girl was at all cold, she gave no sign of it, not even when, toward the end of the evening, Tracy came bursting inside with some of his friends.

"It's snowing!" he yelled.

They all tumbled outside to look, even Eden in her flimsy garb and sandaled feet. Sure enough, fat white flakes were floating out of the night sky, landing on their delighted faces and sticking to their hair and eyelashes.

"Soon it will be Christmas!" shouted one of Marilyn's friends.

Eden and Jane exchanged wry glances. "And just like that, Hallow'een is forgotten," sighed Eden. "So much for all our hard work."

"Nonsense," said Jane. She raised her voice. "Hot cider for everyone inside!"

The snow was forgotten as the children raced back into the house, ready for warmth and sweets.

The lawn was thickly covered in white stars when the party finally ended. Jane was staying the night so she and Eden could talk over the delights of the evening. It was her first time ever sleeping over with a friend, and she was slightly nervous, but it turned out to be fun. Abbie crept in with hot chocolate and leftover cookies after everyone else was asleep, and the three girls laughed and chatted about the party until the wee hours of the morning, when they all fell asleep wherever they happened to be sprawled.

Despite the late night, Jane woke up early the next morning. She giggled as she looked at Eden, curled up in a ball atop her bed, black eye makeup smeared all over her cheeks, and Abbie, whose platinum wig had slipped off her head and now covered most of her face.

Jane didn't bother to wake either of them. Filled with a sudden longing to be home with Mother and Dad, she changed out of her now-wrinkled costume into a grey wool skirt and red sweater. She wrote a short note to Eden and Abbie, telling them she had gone home, and slipped down the stairs and out the front door.

The snow had continued to fall all night, and now a carpet of white covered everything, as far as the eye could see. Jane drew in a deep breath, silently rejoicing in this silent, mystical world.

"Oh, even Mr. Kendall would have to find beauty in _this_," she murmured under her breath.

"Going home, Jane?"

Jane didn't quite jump, but she barely escaped it. "Colby Westin!" she exclaimed, glaring at the tall boy who had appeared practically out of nowhere. "What are you doing?"

"Walking you home," he replied with a shy grin. "You didn't think I'd let you go home by yourself, did you?"

Jane couldn't help but notice what a difference a smile made to Colby's typically sullen face. He and Eden shared the same dark coloring, but whereas she glowed with life and vibrancy, Colby was withdrawn and usually went unnoticed.

"Well, thank you," she replied. "But I am capable of walking home by myself, you know. It's only a few blocks."

"I know," he shrugged, falling into step beside her. "But I thought I'd be a gentleman." He glanced at her sideways under heavy brows. "You … you don't mind, do you?"

"No," Jane answered absently. She was distracted by a robin redbreast that had just landed on a snow-covered tree branch and trilled out his song loudly to the world. How Jane loved the robins! So pert and confident. _Nothing_ ever bothered them.

The walk back to Jane's house was uneventful. Colby didn't say anything, and Jane didn't feel particularly inclined to talk herself. She, who could carry on a conversation with anyone, old or young, on Prince Edward Island, found herself at a loss for words around the eldest Westin boy. They had so little in common! In fact, Jane couldn't think of one thing to talk to him about. He was interested in sports and school events, while she liked to talk about people and ideas. He was shy, preferring not to get acquainted with people, while Jane made friends on every corner. He was a thinker, she a doer.

In short, Jane decided, they had absolutely _nothing_ in common. Still, at least he had the sense not to interrupt the beauty of the morning with chatter. So she put her taciturn companion out of her mind and focused instead on the patterns the sunlight and shadows made on the new-fallen snow.

Her home was capped with a soft blanket of snow. Dad was outside in the yard with Happy and Bubbles as Jane and Colby approached. Jane's heart leapt at the sight of him.

"Dad!" she called, forgetting her companion and breaking into a run.

"Well, Janekin," Dad grinned, hugging her tight while the dogs leapt on her in a frenzy of excitement. "So you decided to return? Things were dull around here without you, Jane, decidedly dull." He nodded at Colby. "Thank you for walking her back. Would you like to stay for breakfast?"

Colby shook his head, red creeping up around his ears. "No thanks," he said brusquely. "I need to be getting back. See you, Jane."

"Goodbye," Jane said absently. She ran up the steps to the door, eager to see Mother and tell her all about the party, Colby already forgotten.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **my apologies if anyone found the brief bit of history in here boring. I'm a huge history buff, especially British history, so it tends to sneak in places without my realizing it. Oh, and Sir Francis Drake really is an ancestor of mine on my mother's side :)_

_Remember, reviews happy author. Happy author quick updates. No reviews sad author. Sad author character death. So review!_


	12. Chapter 12

Snow continued to fall heavily after Hallow'een, not ceasing for a week and more. School was canceled, roads were closed, and people became hermits, only trekking out of their homes for emergency supplies, before darting back to the warmth and comfort of their own hearths.

The enforced confinement didn't bother Jane one whit. She had always loved snow, even back at 60 Gay. It was the one thing that could transform Gay Street from a shabby, forlorn reminder of past glories into a beautiful place of soft mystery. Here, at Lakeside Gardens, it was even lovelier, filling the ravine with white, covering the deep green of the pines with fluffy caps, turning the Humber and distant Lake Ontario into frozen sheets of wonder.

Newspapers still had to function, storms or no, so every morning Jane and Dad would shovel a path from their front steps to the road, and Dad would leave for work, driving very carefully, kissing his hand to his two women.

Then Jane and Mother would settle in for a quiet morning and afternoon, puttering around the house, making it more theirs every day, adding the little touches that said "home," cooking and cleaning and polishing and scrubbing and sewing. Jane spent much of her time in the kitchen, baking furiously. Something about the continued cold and heavy snow made her want to bake … and bake … and bake. Cookies, cakes, bread, and the like poured out of the kitchen, until she was practically forced to break a path to Riveredge to deliver some of her goodies to the Westins.

They were enjoying the break from school, as well. Eden and Tracy, forgetting their disagreements for once, constructed a snow fort in the back yard and spent most of their days outside pelting each other with snowballs in a furious battle for control of it. Colby, in a surprisingly kind act, helped Edwin build a snowman by the front gate. Marilyn was happy to curl up like a little kitten by the roaring fire inside and play with her paper dolls cut out of Abbie's old fashion magazines, and only Abbie herself showed any signs of discontent with the continued storm.

"If I have to spend one more day with these … infants … I shall scream!" she fumed to Jane when that girl delivered her latest batch of cookies. "Eden is thirteen … you'd think she'd at least start showing some concern with her appearance, some interest in parties and boys, but all she wants to do is _play_ outside like a _child_!"

"Why shouldn't she?" Jane asked in genuine confusion, setting down the plate on the hall table.

Abbie rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Jane. You're as bad as she is! I wouldn't mind being … trapped … in here so much if I had a sister I could gossip with, to give me her opinion on my hair and clothes, who would take my advice on hers, but oh no, Edie can't even stand being in the same room with me when I start talking about clothes or boys. She should have _been_ a boy herself, for all the interest she gives to them."

Jane shrugged, and Abbie rolled her eyes again.

"I think Abbie would get along quite well with Phyllis," Jane decided on the way home, a mischievous smile playing about her lips.

After Dad got home each day, he and Mother and Jane would strap on their cross-country skis and go explore. Snow had transformed even prosaic Toronto into a fairyland, full of unexpected beauties and wonders.

Sometimes they would go into the business area and marvel at the phenomenon of a city practically shut down by the weather.

"No matter how powerful or advanced our race … the race of humanity … becomes, there are some thing that we will never conquer or control," said Dad one afternoon, gazing out at all the closed shops and blocked streetcar tracks. "Weather is one of them."

Mother laughed and pointed to a couple who, like them, were out exploring despite the falling snow and biting wind. "Perseverance is another. No matter what, we will always persevere."

"Hope," Jane chimed in, looking at the lighted windows and thinking of the people inside, snug and warm. "Things will never get so bad that we stop hoping."

They turned back toward their own home, and were almost there when Dad added another unconquerable element to their list. "Love," he said softly. "Love is stronger than anything else. Stronger than anything we can invent … stronger than hatred or jealousy or … pride."

He looked down at Mother with that expression that always gave Jane a lump in her throat. What _had_ she ever done to deserve parents like hers?

They didn't always go into town on their excursions; more often they went down into the ravine and beyond. They explored the mystery of their own little forest, frosted over with snow and ice, little rabbit tracks scattered everywhere, looking like fairy footprints, pine cones frozen solid and hanging off their boughs, the snow creating avenues and glens that would never be there in the spring. Once they even saw a cardinal, his brilliant red wings flashing against the white snow so brightly it almost hurt to look at him.

These trips were precious to Jane … she treasured up memories from them and carried them close to her heart for months afterward. Mother's beautiful cheeks flushed red with the wind, her golden curls nearly hidden by a cunning little fur cap … Dad's hearty laugh booming through the silent woods … the three of them stopping in unspoken assent to absorb the glory of a perfect winter sunset glowing through the pines … Mother and Dad stealing a kiss when they thought Jane wasn't watching … Mother saying something saucy to Dad and him chasing her with snow until it became a full-blown snowball fight between all three … coming home at the end of a trek, half-frozen and tired, and Jane rushing to the kitchen to make hot chocolate so they could all sit in front of their fireplace and dream …

Every day provided a dozen beautiful moments, and Jane almost felt cheated when the storms finally let up and normal life began again.

Still, there was enjoyment in that, too. The Westins came over with their toboggans and runner sleds, and they discovered the unutterable thrill of rushing helter-skelter down the steep side of the ravine, stopping abruptly in a snowbank at the bottom. Added to the excitement of being a steep and long run, if one went off course just slightly, one might crash into a tree.

Mothers might sigh and fret, but to the children, the possible danger only enhanced their enjoyment. Bruises and scrapes were only to be expected in such activities!

"Mothers," Eden said scornfully, dragging her sled back up the side of the ravine after a particularly exciting run, during which she and Jane (who was riding with her) bounced from one tree to another to another, finally landing at the bottom dazed but unhurt. "They want everything to be _safe_. Where's the fun in that?"

Jane laughed. "Mummy worries, I know, but at least she understands. She hasn't forbidden me to slide here."

Eden brushed snow out of her face with one mittened hand. "My mother knows it would be utterly pointless to forbid us to do it … we would anyway. She does insist that we be extra careful with Edwin and Marilyn, though." She made a face.

Besides tobogganing, Jane also discovered the joys of ice skating. Nearly every afternoon after school, she dropped her book bag inside, snatched up her skates, and trekked down to the frozen Humber, there to join the dozens of colorful figures racing and twirling along the glassy stretch.

Jane, so proficient in most things, was an admittedly poor skater, falling down whenever she tried anything more ambitious than moving forward in a straight line, but she still loved the thrill of feeling that smooth ice beneath her blades, and the possibility that if one just went fast enough, one might fly.

Of the Westins, only Colby and Marilyn enjoyed skating, hence they were Jane's most frequent companions on these outings. Marilyn, tiny and fragile in appearance, was an artist on her skates, tracing the most intricate patterns with seeming ease, even attempting jumps and spins when Colby wasn't looking, something that happened with increasing frequency when Jane was nearby.

Colby himself was just as talented as Marilyn, and Jane sometimes stopped skating altogether to watch the two of them skate together, Colby gently holding his little sister, sometimes even lifting her fully off the ice into his arms. The day he picked her up, laughing with glee, completely above his head while he spun, Jane broke into spontaneous applause.

Colby set the giggling Marilyn back down and skated back to Jane, his usually sulky face glowing.

"Wherever did you learn how to do that?" Jane asked in wonder.

Colby laughed, and Jane was struck by the free and open tone. Never had she seen Colby this relaxed.

"Before we moved to Lakeside Gardens, we lived right on Lake Ontario, and I would go out every day during the winter and skate. One of our neighbors actually skated in the 1924 Olympics, and he used to give me lessons. None of the others were interested, but I loved it from the moment I put my foot in a skate for the first time, and Marilyn is the same. We started teaching her when she was three, and soon after Mr. Rogers … our neighbor … began to teach us some pairs moves." Colby shrugged, watching Marilyn whirl like a top. "Who knows, maybe one day we'll even compete together."

They certainly did make a striking pair, with Colby's dark coloring and long limbs contrasting sharply to Marilyn's fair curls, delicate features, and small frame. Jane enjoyed watching them together almost as much as she liked to skate herself, although it was fun, certainly, to have Colby attempt to teach her how to skate backward, a futile attempt that usually left both of them helpless with laughter.

"I've never enjoyed winter so much," Jane declared one late November day as the three of them were walking home from the streetcar stop. "Before I went out to P.E.I., winter was simply another dreary and dull season. It was always cold in 60 Gay, even with fires in every room. Then, after Lantern Hill, winter was just something I had to live through until I could go home. Now, though, it's almost … _almost_ … as good as the summer."

"This winter's the best I've ever spent, too," said Colby, looking at Jane almost shyly from the corner of his eye. However, Marilyn picked that moment to tumble down in the snow, distracting Jane, and Colby's meaning was lost.

He might have meant to give Jane another hint a bit later, as they were walking through the development; the roads were imperfectly plowed, and he held Marilyn's hand on one side and placed his free hand beneath Jane's elbow to steady her. Unfortunately, this gentlemanly act had rather the opposite effect than he intended … rather than be touched at his courtesy, Jane was slightly annoyed that he thought she couldn't walk through a little bit of snow by herself!

She was glad to see Mr. Kendall out in his front walk shoveling as they approached his home. She took advantage of his curt wave to say quickly to Colby:

"Oh, I have something I must ask Mr. Kendall. Go on without me."

"Will we see you tomorrow?" Colby asked, letting go of her arm reluctantly.

Under normal circumstances, Jane would have said yes, but his solicitous manner was still irritating her, so instead she replied quite coolly, "I'm afraid not … I have other plans. Tell Eden hello for me. Goodbye, Marilyn!"

She hurried toward Mr. Kendall, leaving Colby standing glumly in the middle of the road, with Marilyn waving brightly beside him.

"Well, Jane Stuart," commented Mr. Kendall, leaning on his shovel and surveying her flushed cheeks with amusement. "Leaving the lads heartbroken already? You're a young one to be starting out in such a manner already! Have a little pity on them, wood nymph. Mere mortals cannot help falling in love with unearthly creatures, you know. Deal gently with the poor fools."

"Mr. Kendall, I have no idea what you are talking about," Jane answered with dignity. "Nobody's in love with me."

Mr. Kendall raised one shaggy eyebrow. "Oh no?" He glanced back down the road at the Westins' retreating backs.

"Colby is just a friend," Jane said. To her surprise and annoyance, she felt herself blush as she said it, though she had no idea why.

Mr. Kendall laughed. "Very well, I'll stop teasing you. After all, who knows what spell you might cast on me if I anger you enough? The last fair maiden I vexed (a fine, meaningful word, by the by, Jane), turned me into the beast you see now. Would you believe, looking at me, that I was once a prince among men, Jane Stuart?"

Jane's blushes receded, and she was able to answer Mr. Kendall in kind. "Yes, I think I would," looking at him appraisingly. "You're not so beast-like once one gets to know you. In fact, I don't think you're frightening at all!"

"Ah, but you are gifted with the immortals' discernment," Mr. Kendall said whimsically, though with a bitter twist to his mouth. "It'll take a fairy lifting the spell on me before most can see me as a human again."

"And what sort of a fairy are you seeking?" Jane asked, a sudden idea popping into her mind.

"Why?" he asked. "Do you happen to know any who would take pity on a broken man? You _are_ a spirit, Jane!"

"If I find the right fairy, I'll be sure to send her along to you," Jane answered demurely. "And now, Mr. Kendall, I must be getting along home. Mummy will worry if I'm out too late."

The author nodded gravely to her, and Jane moved sure-footedly down the street.

"I need to think of a way to introduce Mr. Kendall to Mrs. Kane," she mused aloud.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** I originally meant this chapter to simply be a tribute to the blizzard that hit us on Valentine's Day. However, somehow the skating insisted on working its way in (unsurprisingly enough). What can I say, I love figure skating nearly as much as LMM! This will be the last chapter for a little while, as I'm missing Meggie & Co., but never fear, I'll return to Jane soon. She's too much fun to abandon for very long!_


	13. Chapter 13

Jane didn't have much time for plotting ways to bring about a meeting between Mr. Kendall and Mrs. Kane, for now the holiday season was upon them, and her days were all filled with a hundred different activities. First of all, there were presents to be bought and shipped to the Island (including the all-important gift for Jody, a book of Mozart minuets) … then there were the Westins to think of, as well as Jane's adult friends … there was Christmas baking and decorating (_such_ fun to deck their home in holiday splendor!) … and finally, of greatest importance, there was the Nativity play at church.

St. Christopher's was a lovely old Anglican church, built of red sandstone and adorned with vibrant stained-glass windows … two of which, members boasted proudly, had been made by Tiffany and shipped all the way from New York City. Jane loved sitting in the old wooden pews on Sunday mornings and watching the sunlight pour through the Tiffany windows, making their colors come alive with a vitality and brilliancy almost unbelievable.

The vicar, Mr. Clemens, was a gentle old man with white hair, a deprecating smile, and a touching faith in the innate goodness of all men. Jane wondered sometimes a little cynically what he would make of Grandmother, but for all that she liked him enormously, and she liked his wife as well, a bustling, sonsy woman with rosy cheeks and twinkling brown eyes.

It was Mrs. Clemens who was in charge of the Nativity play, and she who was responsible for Jane's role as the Virgin Mary. Jane was beside herself with pride and delight over the honor, and practiced her part in season and out, until Dad said he couldn't step anywhere in the house without hearing Jane muttering away to herself.

The Westins were staunch Anglicans who also attended St. Christopher's, and the four middle children were in the play as well: Marilyn as the tiniest, most golden Christmas angels; Eden as another angel, this one to strike fear in the heart of any shepherd with her snapping dark eyes; Tracy as a plump, good-natured shepherd boy (Eden was heard to posit the theory that he would have made a better sheep); and Colby as Joseph.

"Colby said last year that he'd never do the Nativity play again; he's getting too old," Abbie told Jane from her superior seventeen-year-old's position as director's assistant. "He only changed his mind after he heard you were going to be in it." She winked meaningly, and Jane flushed indignantly.

She was becoming more accustomed to being teased about Colby, but she still thought it was nonsense. To Jane, boys were simply good comrades, the same as girls. She had no more romantic thoughts regarding herself in that practical russet head that Happy or Bubbles. Punch, Ding-Dong, Young John, as all the rest were just chums, same as Min and Polly and Shingle.

What made the teasing worse for Superior Jane was that she was actually starting to discover some good qualities in Colby, and thought she could have liked him quite well for a friend were it not for everyone else's winks and smirks and insinuations. He genuinely cared for people, was kind and good-hearted under his sullen exterior, and had an unexpected sense of humor that flashed out at the most random of times.

All this made Colby's casting as Joseph rather frustrating for Jane, but other than that she was delighted with the play. Mrs. Kane helped her fashion the darlingest blue robe and white headdress for her costume, and promised to be there on the gala occasion. At that Jane promptly made her way to Mr. Kendall's to invite him to come as well.

The author scowled. A Christmas pageant at church? I'm fond of you, Jane-girl, but I'd rather be tortured with hot irons than set foot inside a church again … and out of all the silly holidays, Christmas in the silliest."

I used to agree," said Jane composedly, not at all perturbed by his shocking statement, though both Grandmother and Aunt Irene would surely have gasped in horror. "That was before we were a family … now I love Christmas."

"Why?" challenged Mr. Kendall. "What possible use is Christmas other than encouraging little children to greed?"

Jane reflected seriously. "I suppose … it touches something deep inside of us … makes us glad to be alive in this world. Besides," she added practically, "at this point in winter, we need any excuse to celebrate."

Mr. Kendall's scowl lightened, and he laughed. "Well, enjoy your 'excuse to celebrate.' I won't rob you of your joy in it."

"But you won't join us?" Jane concluded shrewdly.

He shook his bushy head. "Not for a million dollars. I swore … once … that I'd never enter another church building, and by … Jove … I mean to keep my vow."

Jane was disappointed but not discouraged. With a dangerous confidence in her abilities born out of unbroken success, she was sure she could introduce Mr. Kendall and Mrs. Kane sometime … and after that, she was sure, everything would fall into place.

In the meantime, she was needed at the church for dress rehearsal!


	14. Chapter 14

The play went off without a hitch … none of the performers forgot their lines … none of the children cried … and the audience watched in breathless wonder as the old, old tale of the Savior of the world's birth was enacted once more before their eyes. Jane, a serene and ageless Madonna, was showered with praise afterward. The only fly in her ointment was the number of comments she received on what a handsome couple she and Colby made. Indeed, toward the end of the evening, when yet one more lady mentioned how "charming" the two of them had looked up their together … "So natural, you know, almost like you really were married!" … Jane barely managed to keep from rolling her eyes in disgust.

Thankfully, Dad noticed her agitation before she actually did anything outright rude, and ushered her and Mother home.

"I was proud of you tonight, Queen Jane," he said. "You made a story that, while beautiful in itself, has been told so many times it's rather threadbare, come alive again with fresh meaning."

"Mrs. Clemens said Mary was only a little older than I am when Jesus was born," Jane said dreamily, apropos of nothing. "Can you imagine?"

"You were very convincing, darling," Mother said, smoothing Jane's hair softly. Mother had undergone some bad moments herself when people commented on the charming pair Jane and Colby made … Mother, who wasn't quite ready to admit yet that her little girl was grown up enough to have a "beau." Still, she hid her discomfort quite nicely, determined not to cling to her daughter the way _her_ mother had clung to her.

Jane, unaware of Mummy's inner turmoil, sighed happily, indulged in one more memory of that delicious evening, and then came back to reality. They were invited to the Fords' the next night for Christmas Eve dinner, and she didn't want to forget anything she was supposed to bring: small gifts for the children, dinner rolls, and an apple cream tart made from one of Mary's recipes.

Jane was really quite excited about visiting the Fords. Although Mother and Dad had been to their home in Toronto before, and she herself had been to their summer house on a little island just a few miles across the Glen St. Mary harbor … a dear, rambling house full of its inhabitants' charm and personality, that rang, so Mrs. Ford said, with laughter and shouts all day long … she had never been to their Toronto home. It was supposedly quite simple and homey, standing out among the grander houses in their neighborhood by that account, but,

"Dear me!" Mrs. Ford had said one time that past summer. "Who wants to live in a big old majestic house, when you can live in a place that feels like _home_? Grand houses are all very well for visits, but give me something simple and sweet for real comfort."

Mrs. Ford, Jane had thought then, and still thought now, was an extremely _sensible_ woman.

It was great fun shopping with Mummy for the Ford children on Christmas Eve. They found a book on simple magic tricks for Gilly, remembering his fascination with Punch's magic show in their circus … some pretty hair ribbons and barrettes for the twins (blue for the golden-fleeced Anna, green for red-haired, grey-eyed Ally) … and a teddy bear for little four-year-old Teddy Ford, whose sweet features and dark gold curls always filled Jane with the strangest longing. She would _so_ love to have a baby around like that to cuddle and spoil.

The shops were full of people doing last-minute Christmas shopping, all bustling around merrily, calling out holiday greetings to neighbors and friends. The Christmas spirit was infectious, and as Mother and Jane took a break from their shopping to sip cinnamon-spiced hot chocolate and nibble gingerbread at a little café downtown, they both found enormous smiles on their faces just from watching their fellow shoppers go to and fro out the frosted window.

"Oh Mummy," Jane sighed. "I'm so happy."

"So am I, dearest," Mother agreed, a little tremble in her voice. Under her breath, she added, "I didn't think life _could_ be so beautiful and rich."

Jane was distracted by something a lady was carrying as she flashed past the window, and didn't hear Mother properly. "Oh, Mummy!" she cried. "Look! Christmas roses. Can't we get some for Mrs. Ford?"

Mother smiled her delightful smile. "I think they would be an entirely appropriate hostess gift, my Jane."

And indeed, when Jane presented Mrs. Ford with the bouquet of pure white flowers, edged about with their evergreen foliage, that woman beamed with delight.

"Oh, how beautiful! I'll put these in water right away. Come in and make yourselves comfortable," she called over her shoulder as she walked gracefully into the dining room. "Kenneth, take their coats."

Mr. Ford did so, with a hearty handshake for Dad, a courtly, old-fashioned kiss on the back of the hand for Mother, and a wink and grin for Jane.

Then the children tumbled in, dressed in their Christmas finery, but still managing to look mischievous and rumpled for all that. Anna instantly grabbed Jane's hand and dragged her into the parlor to see their magnificent Christmas tree, rising at least ten feet in the air, the star at its tip just brushing the vaulted ceiling.

"Isn't it _gorgeous_?" she demanded proudly. "Dad and Gilly picked it out, and Ally, Mother and I decorated it."

"I helped, too!" little Teddy insisted around the thumb in his mouth.

"He helped by eating the popcorn and cranberries off their strings as fast as we could put them on," Ally confided dryly to Jane, ruffling her little brother's curls.

"It certainly is handsome," Jane said sincerely, though she couldn't help but think that _their_ tree, half the height and decorated quite simply with white candles and red wooden stars, was twice as nice. Still, the Ford tree, covered in gold and silver ornaments and dripping with ropes of white popcorn and red cranberries, was undoubtedly quite gorgeous, as Anna had said.

"I wanted something smaller, myself," Mrs. Ford was saying to Mother as they entered the room, "but Gilly and Ken insisted on getting the largest they could find. Gilly said we needed a big tree to fit all the presents Santa Claus was going to bring him underneath." She laughed warmly.

Ally tossed her red head resentfully. "After the way he behaved today, _I_ think he should only get coal!"

"What did he do?" Jane asked.

Ally pouted. "He told me my hair was redder than ever, and if I kept up at this rate, it would be completely orange by the time I was sixteen, and no man would ever want to marry me!"

"Poor Ally," sympathized Mrs. Ford. "Red hair seems to be the curse of my family … from my mother, to my older sister, to you. Never fret, dearest, both your grandmother's hair and your Auntie Di's darkened to auburn as they grew older, and there's no reason to think yours won't … whatever your brother may say."

Ally seemed slightly mollified, but still glowered at Gilly when he came in with the men. These glimpses of a close-knit family fascinated Jane. Seeing the Fords gave her some idea of what her family might have been like, had Grandmother and Aunt Irene never pushed Mother and Dad apart … a family with brothers and sisters, teasing each other, laughing with each other, loving each other … and a mother and dad who hadn't been separated for ten years.

Still, she told herself as they all sat around the big table in the spacious dining room, they were together now, and that was what was most important.


	15. Chapter 15

Mother and Jane worked quite happily side-by-side at the big kitchen table, Jane basting a chicken for dinner, and Mother tearing up greens for a salad.

"You know, Jane," Mother said, pushing a tendril of golden hair from her forehead with the back of her hand, "I never really knew how much fun it could be to run your own household until this year. I never did anything while living at 60 Gay, and even when your father and I were first married, I was so afraid of making a mistake and disappointing him that I never let myself enjoy it."

"But you always said you and Dad were so happy that first year, Mummy," Jane said curiously.

"Oh, we were." A dreamy little smile hovered around Mother's lips. "But it was in _spite_ of the housekeeping … whereas now, housekeeping just adds to the delight of things."

"That's just how I feel," laughed Jane.

Into their mood of happy contentment came Dad, scowling blackly. "Robin, do we _really_ have to go to this silly function tonight?"

"Oh, Andrew," sighed Mother. "I've turned down every invitation to every event I've received since we came back to Toronto. If we don't show ourselves in public at least once, nobody will believe we actually exist! Besides, the Stedmans have always been quite decent to me; I feel I owe it to them to accept their invitation."

"I don't think there could be anything more foolish than a Valentine's Day party," growled Dad.

Jane agreed with Dad in theory, but in reality she couldn't help but be slightly interested in this particular party, for it was the first one which included her in the invitation. The Stedmans had two children a few years older than Jane, and Mrs. Stedman had graciously included a personal note to Mother in the formal invitation, expressing her wish that Jane could become acquainted with her daughters. Aside from the possibility of making new friends … something that always thrilled Jane down to her toes … she was almost shamefacedly excited about attending her first "adult" party. She remembered seeing Mummy dress up to go to events all the time when she was a child, and she felt as though some door was opening to her, beckoning her to join that alluring world of grown-up life.

And even Dad, after Mother gave one pointed look in Jane's direction, relented from his complaining at the sight of her starry eyes and flushed cheeks, and gave in with unwonted graciousness.

As soon as dinner was eaten that afternoon, even without washing the dishes, a sacrilege that would have horrified Jane any other time, Mother and Jane whisked upstairs to start preparing for the party. Mummy arrayed herself in misty apple-green chiffon, looking like the very image of spring, belying the bleak February landscape outside. For Jane, however, Mother insisted on a simple slip of creamy satin with navy accents at the neck and hem, and a navy velvet jacket.

"It looks so plain, Mummy," Jane protested.

"No, my darling, it looks clean and elegant," Mother corrected. "You have such a strong personality, Jane, that it would be ridiculous to put you in anything with frills and fuss."

Jane sighed … and submitted. "I do wish I could be as pretty as you are, Mummy," she said wistfully.

Mother kissed her tenderly. "You are a beautiful person in your own right, Jane Victoria." … she was always serious now when she used Jane's full name … "Don't ever wish to be different. Oh darling, if only you knew how many times I've longed for your courage!"

It was just the right thing to say. Jane, who had been feeling big and awkward again, as she had not felt in years, suddenly felt strong and happy again. She submitted cheerfully to having her hair left down, just pulled back at the sides, and even went into raptures over her darling little navy slippers, with just the faintest hint of heels. When she put them on, she felt truly grown-up, and Dad's whistle of admiration as she and Mother came down to the front hall just filled her cup almost to overflowing.

"I don't know if I can bear to be seen with two such lovely ladies," said Dad, his eyes laughing warmly at them both. "I suppose I'll have to watch my manners so as to live up to such beauty. Why Jane, you're a young lady! What happened to my girl who wanders around Lantern Hill in overalls splashed with green paint?"

"She's still here, Dad," laughed Jane. "Just covered up for one night … Cinderella putting on her ball gown, you know."

Dad kissed Mother as he helped her into her frosty white wrap. "If Cinderella looked like either of you two, it's no wonder Prince Charming lost his heart." He ushered them into the car, and they whisked away to the Stedmans' grand home in the heart of fashionable Toronto.

A pert maid with twinkling eyes met them at the door and took their wraps … Jane rather liked the looks of her … and then Mrs. Stedman was swooping down upon them, green eyes snapping merrily.

"Mr. Stuart, Mrs. Stuart, how nice to finally meet the both of you! And this is Jane?"

"Yes," Jane answered for herself, deciding that she liked this small woman with the sharp features and clever eyes.

"Jane, these are my two youngest daughters, Sunny and Lali. Girls, will you show Jane around, introduce her to some of your friends?"

The two girls assented at once, each taking one of Jane's hands and drawing her away from the crowd of adults in the drawing room, to a quiet corner where they could study each other.

Jane saw two girls of approximately the same age, one small-boned and fair, with mischievous green eyes like her mother's, the other dusky-skinned, with broad features, dark eyes, and long, smooth black hair. The two couldn't have looked less like sisters if they had tried, but for the kinship that sparkled from their smiles and found an answering smile on Jane's face. In that first moment, the three girls became friends.

"Now," said the smaller one, obviously used to being the leader, "I'm Sunny, and she's Lali, and yes, we don't look anything alike, because Lali is actually Hawaiian."

"Mum and Father adopted me when I was a baby," Lali said in a sweet-toned voice. "Mum's always had a soft spot for orphans, lucky for me."

"And you're Jane Stuart, and you tamed a lion on Prince Edward Island," continued Sunny.

"It was already tame," Jane said, a trifle impatiently. She _still_ couldn't understand why everyone made such a fuss over a little thing like that. "You should have seen him yawn!"

Sunny let that slide without comment. "I'm glad you're here, because you look sensible, and everyone else here is either silly or stuffy. Most of the girls just want to whisper and giggle about the boys, and most of the boys just want to eat all of Mum's food."

"What about the adults?" said Jane, with the confidence that comes from having friends spanning many ages.

Sunny shrugged. "They look at us all as _children_. Abbie Westin used to have some fun in her, but this last year she's decided that she's an adult, too, and henceforth we are dead to her."

"Oh, are the Westins here?" Jane asked curiously, craning her neck to see if she could spot them.

"That's right, you're neighbors with them. Just Abbie and Colby and their parents. Eden was invited, but she refuses to come to these sorts of things." Sunny grimaced. "Which is probably just as well, because as much fun as she is, she _always_ comes up with something that gets us into trouble!"

Jane laughed, it sounded so like Eden. "Is this all people do, just stand around and talk?" she asked, looking at the crowd which, as she now saw, was actually broken into little knots of people, standing together and excluding everyone else.

"For the most part," Sunny said. "Then they eat, and later on they'll dance a little. Sometimes Mum hires musicians and dancers for entertainment, but she said that since tonight was a Valentine's affair, people would rather dance than be entertained."

"Are we expected to dance?" Jane asked in sudden alarm. There wasn't much that could floor her, but she had never in her life attempted to dance, and she didn't care to make a fool out of herself in front of all Toronto.

Lali laughed, a continuous flowing ripple chuckling out of her throat. "Not unless we're asked, which we never are, because most of the boys are too nervous to ask us!"

"So what do we do?"

"Stand around and be bored, mostly," Sunny answered wryly.

Jane smiled whimsically to herself, thinking that Dad had the right idea about parties, after all. Here she had been thinking they were mysterious, glamorous things … and in reality, it would have been more interesting to be sitting in Mrs. Kendall's kitchen, talking about the world.

The girls stood on the outskirts of the crowd, watching everyone else while Sunny kept up a running commentary on everyone there.

"Mum doesn't really like most of these people," she confided to Jane, "She just hosts these things because she's expected to. She says it's the worst kind of hypocrisy, but unless Father is willing to give up his job, move out to the country, and become a farmer, it's what we have to do."

"Sometimes I wish he would," Lali said. "I think it'd be fun."

Just then, the dancing started, and Mother and Dad distracted Jane as they swept out onto the cleared floor. Mother looked so dainty and small, and Dad so strong and sure as he held her in his arms, and Jane rejoiced to see them together.

Thus, she was not altogether pleased when a familiar male voice said, "Hello, Jane."

She executed a half-turn to see Colby Westin standing sheepishly at her elbow.

"Hello, Colby," she said absently.

"Yes, hello, Colby," said Sunny loudly. "Lali and I are standing here too, you know."

Colby flushed. "Hello Sunny, hello Lali. Er, Jane …"

"Mm-hmm?" Jane said, her eyes back on Mother and Dad.

"Um … would you … I mean … that is … do you think … well, would you want to … to dance with me?"

Jane turned and looked at him with her full attention for the first time. Ignorant of society she might be, but even she knew that this was no mere friendly offer. She looked full in his face, and realized what she had always hidden from herself before: his blue eyes sought hers with admiration and hope.

Caught off guard, the only feeling that came to her was resentment. Why did he have to intrude on her happy world with his unwanted attentions? Why couldn't he be sensible, like her Island boy friends? She didn't like Colby in that manner … she couldn't. He simply wasn't a part of her world.

Jane knew instinctively that Colby would never understand the Island, and the freedom that came from living there. He was a city boy to the core of his being, and thus alien to her.

In the midst of all these whirling thoughts, she remembered that she still hadn't answered him. Determined to make her feelings known once and for all, she spoke quite frostily, in her best imitation of Grandmother.

"No thank you," she said with ice in her tone. "And I'll thank you not to trouble me with any more questions. I do not wish to be bothered with such things."

A look of such embarrassment and misery swept Colby's face that she instantly repented of her harsh words, but it was too late. He flushed dark red, muttered something inaudible, and fled the room.

Shame flooded Jane's entire being. She hardly noticed Sunny congratulating her on squelching Colby so thoroughly … "All the girls at school have such crushes on him, but he never looks at anyone. I guess he won't be so proud now!" Even the sight of Mother and Dad dancing together so happily only brought misery, because she knew that what she had done would grieve them both … Mother was always so careful to never hurt anyone's feelings, and Dad hated anything that made him think of Grandmother.

She never, to the end of her days, knew how she got through the rest of that hideous night, but she covered her feelings so well that Sunny, later on, told Lali admiringly that Jane Stuart had the nerve of a cat … she only wished _she_ could be so calm and composed!

* * *

_**Author's Note: **Uh-oh! Our Superior Jane's not feeling quite so superior now. Her first taste of romance has turned out to be somewhat sour. Let me know what you think of her foray into adulthood ... reviews make me oh-so-happy!_


	16. Chapter 16

Jane suffered from her shame in silence for two days … two days of moping around the house … sometimes cleaning frantically, as though attempting to purge herself of guilt … sometimes just sitting limply in the kitchen, staring aimlessly at a cup of tea in front of her … two days of refusing to go out and visit anyone, especially the Westins … two days of longing to talk to Mother about her problem, but too afraid of disappointing her to be able to speak.

Mother and Dad, of course, noticed that something was troubling their Jane, concerns of their own were occupying them at the moment, they let it slide. Dad opined that Jane was simply heartsick for the Island, while Mother suspected a deeper issue, but was unwilling to pry.

Finally, the night of the second day, Mother came into Jane's room as that girl was preparing for bed.

"Jane, darling," Mother said gently, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Are you all right, dearest?"

Jane sighed. Here was the perfect opportunity to seek comfort in Mummy's arms … but she couldn't quite bring herself to do it. "I'm fine, Mother," she said unconvincingly in a small, unhappy voice.

Mother echoed Jane's sigh with one of her own. "Very well, my dear," she said sadly. "Remember, if anything ever _does_ bother you, you can always come to me about it, no matter what. I don't want you ever to feel that you can't tell me things …" The way she felt about her mother when she was growing up, she could have added, but didn't.

Jane turned from hanging up her skirt and sweater in the closest and huddled to the floor by the bed, her glossy russet head leaning against Mother's knee. "Oh, Mummy," she said. "I'm _so_ miserable … and so ashamed to tell you about it."

Mother smoothed her hand over Jane's head gently. "You must never be ashamed to tell Mother anything, dearest."

"But you'll be so disappointed in me," Jane said in a muffled voice.

"Never," Mother replied firmly. "I love you, my darling Jane … and don't you know that 'love covereth all sins?' You could never do anything that would make me love you any less."

Jane sighed again … and proceeded to unburden herself to Mother, telling her all about how badly she had acted toward Colby. "It wasn't even so much _what_ I said, Mummy, as how I said it," she mourned. "I was cruel … and rude … and I know I hurt him dreadfully. I don't even know _why_ I acted like that … I was just so uncomfortable and upset. Why did he have to go and like me like that, anyway?" feeling a recurrence of her initial resentment.

"My poor Jane," said Mother, a slight quiver in her voice. "Why, I can hardly get over thinking of you as my little girl, and here you are having to turn down your first suitor. Oh my dear, you _are_ growing up, and finding out that parts of it aren't very nice at all."

"If this is what it's like to grow up, I wish I could stay a little girl forever," said Jane stormily.

"I'm selfish enough to wish that, too, Jane," Mother said with a little laugh. "But we can't hold back the clock, dearest, and growing up is simply a part of life. And part of that includes feeling things we haven't felt before, and doing things we later wish we hadn't. It's only natural that Colby's attentions would confuse you, since you've never even dreamed of anything like that before. And in being confused, you didn't know how to react, and lashed out. It's perfectly natural, darling."

"But not right," Jane said.

"No, not right," Mother had to agree. "It's never right to hurt somebody, no matter how we feel at the time."

Jane twisted around to look up in Mother's face. "What should I do?"

Mother smiled down at her earnest face. "What do you think you should do?"

"I don't know," Jane moaned. "I don't want to feel like this anymore … but I don't know how to make it right." She dropped her head again.

Mother caught Jane's chin in one hand and tilted it back to the light. "I think you do know, my Jane … you're just afraid to admit it."

Jane stopped … thought for a moment … and knew Mother was right. "I need to apologize to Colby, don't I?"

"Yes," said Mother simply. "Not for not returning his feelings … but for the way you spoke to him."

"I wish I never had to see him again!" Jane admitted candidly.

Mother laughed her tinkling laugh. "I understand that wish, dearest, but I'm afraid another part of growing up is learning to accept when you make mistakes, and to take responsibility for them. Some people never do learn that," with an undercurrent of bitterness in her tone.

"I'll go speak to him tomorrow," Jane vowed. She sprang up and hugged Mother fiercely. "What do people do who don't have mothers to help them?" she wondered aloud.

Mother hugged her back. "I can't imagine what mothers do who don't have Janes to fill their lives with joy."

"I know one thing, though," Jane said with determination. "I _never_ want to fall in love … not if it's all as complicated as this!"

Mother smiled a sad little wise smile, wishing that were true, but knowing that someday her Jane would find someone to fill her heart, and she would belong to that person then. Accepting the inevitable, but fervently hoping it wouldn't come for many years yet, Mother bent and kissed her daughter's face as she pulled the covers up around her.

"Good-night, my Jane."

"Good-night, Mummy," Jane said sleepily, feeling that she _could_ sleep tonight, for the first time since Valentine's Day.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** This chapter is for Ruby, who wanted to see some Jane/Robin interaction. I had toyed with the idea of having Jane go to Mrs. Kane for advice ... but in the end, I decided it would be sweeter to have it be a tender mother/daughter scene. As always, let me know if you love it or hate it, or whatever in between!_


	17. Chapter 17

Accordingly, Jane set out the next day for Riveredge. It was a grey, gloomy day, with the very snow looking dull and dingy on the frozen ground, the leaden sky overhead hanging with clouds threatening to drop more snow, but not quite doing so, and the stormy grey waves of wind-swept Lake Ontario tossed uneasily under their coverlet of ice.

Altogether, it was an unprepossessing day, and Jane found herself getting more and more nervous the closer she got to Riveredge. She didn't have much experience with apologies … in the free-and-easy banter, light-hearted give-and-take between the Lantern Hill youngsters, apologies were both unnecessary and unwanted. Nobody said anything out of true mean-spiritedness … nobody ever took the easygoing teasing to heart. Jane heartily wished the upcoming interview over, but neither her conscience nor her stubbornness would let her turn back now.

"Jane!" Marilyn was standing on the gate, swinging lightly on her toes. "What are you doing here? Eden and Abbie are away visiting Grandma. I wanted to go too, but Grandma says I chatter too much … I give her the headache." She giggled.

Jane blew a kiss from her mittened hand at the little fairy, relieved that she wouldn't have to avoid awkward questions from the two older girls, as she surely would have had they been around. "As a matter of fact, I'm looking for Colby. Is he here?"

Marilyn shrugged, nearly dislodging herself from her perch. "I think he's in the ravine. He hasn't been around much lately … just gets home from school and disappears out back. _I_ don't know what's wrong with him."

"I do," Jane sighed to herself. To Marilyn, she said: "Well, thank you, kitten. Don't stay out here too long and get a chill!"

"I won't!" Marilyn's little voice chirped behind her as Jane turned and ploughed her way toward the ravine.

Thankfully, no tobogganing parties had taken place lately, so Jane found it fairly easy to track Colby by the lone set of bootprints through the hard crust of snow. She followed them right up to one of the giant pines, where he was sitting hunched up on the ground, heedless of the biting cold, his arms wrapped around his drawn-up knees.

Jane's conscience smote her yet again at the sight of his mute misery, and she moved forward with renewed determination.

"Colby," she called, her clear voice ringing out against the harsh sky.

Colby turned his head, saw her, jumped up, and began to move away. Jane hurried to catch him before he got too far away. "No, wait … Colby, please," she pleaded.

At her plea, he stopped, but he still didn't turn his head to look at her as she came up beside him, staring fixedly at the ravine wall instead. Slightly disconcerted, but knowing it was no less than she deserved, Jane drew a deep breath.

"Colby," she began hesitantly, "I need to … to apologize to you for what I said and how I acted the other night. It was very wrong of me, and I'm sorry." She paused, unsure of how to proceed.

The young man finally turned his head to fix her with piercing blue eyes. "Does this mean you've changed your mind?"

"No!" Jane said, more forcibly than she'd intended. "No," she continued more gently, seeing the disappointment flicker again in his face. "Colby, I just can't … I _can't_ think of you the way you want me to. But I still shouldn't have reacted the way I did. I can't tell you how ashamed I am of myself."

Colby shrugged, masking his disappointment with the old sullen expression. "If you don't like me, that's all there is to it. You can't help that," he said gruffly.

"No," Jane said honestly. "But I needn't have been so rude about it."

For the first time, the barest hint of a smile showed around the corners of Colby's mouth, lightening his stormy features. "Just forget it," he said.

Jane wanted to push, to make sure she was really forgiven, but she guessed she would have to be content with that. "Does this mean we can still be friends?" she asked timidly … an attitude completely foreign to daring, confident Jane Stuart!

Colby shrugged again. "Sure. Maybe. I guess."

Jane arched an eyebrow at him, and he gave her another rusty smile. "I mean, yes."

Jane smiled brilliantly at him in relief. "Thank you," she said fervently. "I don't deserve it, but I am so glad."

This time, Colby's smile was genuine. "Although I might insist on some of your famous cookies before we call it completely even," he warned, surprising her with his teasing. "Every time you bake a batch for us, Tracy and Eden scarf them down before the rest of us get a chance."

Jane laughed, the echoes bouncing off the rocky walls, making it sound as though dryads were laughing along with her from behind every tree. "Is that all?" she teased. "I would have expected to have to make a cake, at the very least."

Colby raised his thick eyebrows. "Well, if you're offering …"

They walked side-by-side out of the ravine. Jane's heart was lighter than she would have imagined possible an hour previously. Not only had Colby forgiven her, but their friendship was better now than it had been before. She didn't think she would ever get over the sickening sense of shame that attended the memory of her words to him that night, but maybe that was a good thing. At least that way she wouldn't be apt to forget and repeat her mistake.

No, for as long as she lived, Jane vowed, she would always, always be careful of how she spoke to people. There was nothing worse than hurting someone … _nothing_ … and even the fact that Colby had forgiven her with unwonted ease didn't erase her actions.

But at least she felt that she could look in the mirror and be friends with _Jane_ again. It was nice, she reflected, to feel comfortable with yourself, however you felt around others.


	18. Chapter 18

"Dear Jane," Jody's letter ran,

"Everything is well here, but I miss you dreadfully. I wish you could live here all the time, not just in the summer. But I shouldn't complain. Miss Violet says whenever we feel sad about something we should 'count our blessings,' and I've heaps. Just living here is the biggest blessing of all … being part of a family. The Titus sisters have asked me to call them 'Aunt' now, because 'Miss' is just too formal. It still seems disrespectful, but I'll try to get used to it. After all, I kind of like the idea of having aunts, even if they are just adopted … or have adopted me, to be accurate. Our teacher here is very big on accuracy. He says we should strive for accuracy in all parts of our life, but especially our language, because inaccuracy is just one step away from lying, which is the worst sin any human being can commit against another … to deceive.

"There's lots of news here. Miranda Mitchell is having a baby this summer. Miss … I mean Aunt Violet thinks it's dreadful of me to be aware of such things: 'In my day, young ladies _never_ spoke of that condition.' But Miranda is as proud as anything, and tells everyone she meets the news, so I don't see what's so bad in me relaying it on to you. She's pleased that now she has a reason for being fat, and someone told her that after she has the baby she'll be real slender, so she's terribly excited about that.

"Min and Punch aren't speaking to each other right now. Min's ma's pig got out of its pen and rampaged over half of Mrs. Jimmy John's gardens before we could catch it. I thought it was going to head for yours next, Jane, and I was heartbroken over the thought of your flowers being destroyed, but we managed to catch it before it got there. Mrs. Jimmy John just laughed and said she could replant, but Punch was mad as hops and said some nasty things to Min, who said nasty things back to him, and now they aren't speaking. After what they said, I guess they have a right to be mad at each other, but it makes things so uncomfortable for the rest of us, because whenever we try to do anything, they just glare at each other the whole time, and that spoils our fun.

"Uncle Tombstone stepped on a rusty nail last week. The doctor thought he was going to have lockjaw and wanted to amputate his foot, but Uncle Tombstone said he didn't care if his jaw _did_ lock, he entered this world with two feet and he was leaving it with two. Little Aunt Em sent word that he should wrap his foot in a rag soaked in coal oil, so he did, and it healed up just fine, with no lockjaw, and Uncle Tombstone says doctors are ignorant old sawbones, anyway.

"Oh, and Jane, Aunt Justina and Step-a-Yard are finally courting! Aunt Violet says it'll never come to anything … but it's such fun to watch. She primps and fusses before he comes over, and they sit in the parlor or on the porch for hours saying absolutely nothing to each other, just nodding and smiling shyly. Here's how it came about:

"Aunt Violet and I came downstairs one morning to find Aunt Justina calmly cooking breakfast … _with her hair cropped to her shoulders and curled and styled!_ Aunt Violet nearly had a heart attack and thought she had gone mad, but Aunt Justina said that she had simply woken up at dawn, looked out the window, and decided she was tired of being twenty years behind the times. So she cut her hair.

"Well, apparently that was a sign to Step-a-Yard that she was over Alec Jacks' memory at last, because the very next day he came up with a bouquet of flowers for her. She accepted them primly … oh Jane, I had such a hard time not laughing, she acted like such a young girl again … and they've been 'courting' ever since. Aunt Violet doesn't like it very much … she says she can't imagine _what's_ gotten into her sister … but Aunt Justina doesn't mind her snubs in the slightest and just goes about her business calmly and naturally.

"It's very funny, but at the same time I'm a little worried. Of course I want Miss … I mean Aunt Justina to be happy, but I don't know if I like the idea of her marrying Step-a-Yard. What will happen if she does? Will he come live with us, or will she go live with him? And if she goes, what will Aunt Violet and I do?

"Polly says not to worry, they probably won't get married at all, so I try not to think about it. But Jane, I wish you were here, you'd have such fun watching them. Hopefully everything will be the same this summer, so you won't miss out on it.

"I miss you! Your faithful chum,

"Jody."

Jane laughed heartily at the October romance between Miss Justina and Step-a-Yard, but at the same time, she felt a little wistful at missing it. It _would_ be grand fun to be a part of it, share in reassuring Miss Violet, give little hints to Step-a-Yard about ways to win a woman's heart, help Miss Justina prepare for their "dates" … but by the time she got back to Lantern Hill, everything would be settled and boring, and all the excitement would be gone out of the affair for everyone but her.

Jane dented her strong chin with one finger as she thought. Surely there was _some_ way she could participate! Nothing came to mind, though … until, looking at the calendar that was Mrs. Kane's Christmas present to her, she sat up straight.

Maybe she couldn't contribute to Miss Justina and Step-a-Yard's romance, but there was a romance right here in Lakeside Gardens she could promote. With all the fuss over Colby, she had completely forgotten her half-planned scheme for bringing Mrs. Kane and Mr. Kendall together … but perhaps it was time for some serious effort along those lines.

First, she knew, she would have to introduce them. Under most circumstances that wouldn't be so hard, but Mr. Kendall was a self-avowed hermit, and Mrs. Kane herself preferred to rarely leave Elysium.

"For who," she laughed, "having found Paradise, would ever want to leave it?"

No, it would take something special to bring them together … and yet Jane would have to be subtle about it, as well, for her instinct warned her that if either of them knew what she was scheming, all her fine plans would be for naught.

Her eyes strayed back to the calendar, hanging open to the month of May … and she leaped straight up out of her chair, a strangled yell caught in her throat.

"Goodness!" Mother said unexpectedly, poking her head in the door. "Whatever is the matter, Jane? It sounded like somebody was being murdered in here."

Jane was too excited to notice Mother's unusually peevish tone. "Mummy," she said hurriedly, "my birthday is next week. Could we … would it be all right if we had a small dinner for some of my friends to celebrate?"

Mother sighed. "I don't know, Jane," she said. "It sounds like a great deal of work … wouldn't you rather just have a quiet day with your father and me? I thought … I thought we could have a special family day, just the three of us"

If given a choice, Jane would _always_ prefer to spend time alone with Mother and Dad, but she ruthlessly suppressed her personal preferences for the greater good. "I'll do all the cooking and preparing, Mummy," she said. "All you'll have to do is help greet the guests when they arrive."

Mother wavered. "Are you sure it's what you really want?"

"Quite sure," Jane said firmly.

"Very well," Mother said weakly. "Whom did you wish to invite?"

"The Westins, of course," Jane said, counting off on her fingers, "And Mrs. Kane, and Mr. Kendall, oh, and the Fords."

"Jane! I thought you said a _small_ dinner!"

"But Mummy …" Jane would have liked to have it be just Mr. Kendall and Mrs. Kane, but she thought that might be a little suspicious. And she couldn't have a party and _not_ invite the Westins, and if she included the Fords that that would provide the perfect mix of adults and children, so no one would feel out of place. But how to convince Mummy without giving away her true reasons? And Jane had an uncomfortable suspicion that Mother would _not_ approve of her matchmaking scheme … and she had been so unaccountably touchy lately.

Then Jane had her brilliant brain stroke. "You see, Mummy, the six Westin children, and the six Fords, and Mr. Kendall and Mrs. Kane, make fourteen, and since that's the age I'm turning, it's perfect! Don't you think?"

Mother pushed a stray tendril of gold out of her eyes. "Very well, Jane dear. You've never really had a birthday party, so I suppose it's only fair that this one should be exactly as you want it to be." She smiled sweetly at her daughter, as though she'd never had a contrary mood in her life.

Jane gave another happy yelp and flung her arms around Mother's neck, hugging her fiercely. "You truly are the best mother in the whole world," she said contentedly.


	19. Chapter 19

Things did not go as smoothly as Jane had hoped for her party. In the first place, Dad was unexpectedly grouchy about it … said he didn't see _why_ inviting a pack of strange people into their home was considered a treat; it seemed more like torture to him! In the second place, Mother's snappish moods began coming with far more frequency, usually accompanied by unusual tiredness, meaning that Jane had to work twice as hard to get all the work done _and_ keep Mummy happy.

Then, although the Westins and Fords were more than delighted to attend a birthday _soiree_, both Mrs. Kane and Mr. Kendall demurred at first.

"Oh Jane, I really do so hate to go out among a crowd of people," Mrs. Kane protested when Jane proffered the invitation. "I always feel sure that they're looking down on me and judging me. Besides, I have nothing fit to wear."

"Don't be ridiculous," Jane replied confidently. "This isn't a crowd, it's just a small group of my most intimate friends, and none of them are going to look down on you. Do you think I'd be friends with anyone like that?"

"No," laughed Mrs. Kane ruefully. "But that still doesn't solve the problem of my dress."

"Just wear what you're comfortable in," Jane persisted. "It doesn't matter how you look, I just want you there … to help me celebrate my special day," she added slyly.

It took a bit more persuasion, but Mrs. Kane finally capitulated. Mr. Kendall, however, was a harder nut to crack.

"I loathe parties, Jane Stuart," he growled, sounding even fiercer about it than Dad. "I'm a cranky old curmudgeon, and I'd only terrify your child friends, and embarrass your adult ones. No, I won't come, and nothing you can say or do will change my mind."

Jane was not so easily discouraged, however, and kept at him until he eventually agreed to make a brief appearance, if for no other reason than that he saw she would never stop badgering him until he gave in.

"You've a silver tongue and a relentless mind, Dryad," he said, smiling a little beneath his fierce tone. "It's a dangerous combination … you'll stir up the world someday if you're not careful."

"I don't want to stir the world," Jane laughed back at him, confident now that everything would go as planned. "I just want to make those around me happy."

"Ah, but that can be as dangerous as the other, sometimes," he warned. "For what you think will make someone else happy, and what is truly in their best interests, are oftentimes worlds apart."

"But do you think we should never do anything for anyone?" Jane asked him seriously. These philosophical discussions with Mr. Kendall, though occasionally beyond her grasp, were always challenging and interesting.

"Well, I don't, and I find it's far safer," he replied grimly. "Less chance of making a mess that way."

"But that's selfishness, to only look out for your own interests, and never for other people's," Jane said, tilting her head as she faced him. "We're supposed to be self_less_, and always look out for others above ourselves." Though she didn't say it, she was thinking of Grandmother, whose selfish desire to keep her daughter to herself had nearly destroyed three lives.

"Ah, but how much of that altruistic attitude is true?" queried Mr. Kendall, drawing his brows together in that ferocious look that so terrified the younger Westins and made Eden sure he was hiding a deep, dark secret. "Isn't there an aspect of selfishness in all our lofty attempts to help others? How much of it is done out of a genuine desire for their best interests, as opposed to us wanting to feel good about ourselves? We do nice things for other people simply so that we can feel smug and superior, patting ourselves on the back for how wonderful we are, or congratulating ourselves on manipulating their lives so efficiently. We're all Pharisees, parading our good deeds before the world so that they can see how wonderful we are and praise us for it … and if we do happen to do them in secret, than it's only so that _we_ can feel how wonderful we are.

"No, people are basically selfish, Jane Stuart, and all our vaunted selflessness is merely a pose. I simply acknowledge my selfishness, unlike the rest of humanity, who try to pretend they are really basically _good_ people."

"Well," Jane said, drawing in a long breath. "I do think people are basically good, Mr. Kendall, and someday I'll prove it to you."

Mr. Kendall laughed sardonically. "Heaven forbid I should shatter your illusions, Jade. Be that as it may, I will be at your party, not because I want to be, but because you twisted my arm into it."

"See," Jane twinkled at him. "You're being selfless." With that, she swung off into the gathering gloom, well, pleased at her parting shot, and hugging herself with the secret delight that she had the means to prove Mr. Kendall wrong the very next day. Once he and Mrs. Kane fell in love, he would have to admit that Jane brought them together simply because she didn't want them to be lonely, and not because there was anything she herself could get out of it.

Her innate honesty made her pause. Wasn't she partly doing this so she wouldn't miss out on the fun of watching Step-a-Yard and Miss Justina court each other? Wasn't that a somewhat selfish motive?

She paused in mid-step, thinking it over. Well, she finally concluded, maybe there was a little something she was getting out of it all, but her overall motives were pure, and that was what was most important.

Satisfied with herself once more, she darted up the path toward home, remembering that she still needed to bake two more batches of cookies before tomorrow—for all of tomorrow's forenoon would be taken up with baking the birthday cake, making the sandwiches, and polishing every nook and cranny of the house until it shone.

Unfortunately for her, Mother was sobbing in the kitchen over something Jane couldn't even make out through the tears, Dad was locked in his study, and even Happy and Bubbles were cowering in the corner.

Under the circumstances, she decided it would be best to get up early the next day and bake the cookies … tonight just wasn't a good night. Her spirits slightly dampened, but her determination unshaken, she went up to her room to cement her plans.

The tense atmosphere must have affected her even in her cosy little room, however, for all she could think of was to introduce Mr. Kendall to Mrs. Kane, see to it that they had plenty of opportunities to be together, and then after it was all done, talk to each of them individually, and mention to each how wonderful the other was.

Jane sighed. It was almost a pity that she was leaving at the end of this month for Lantern Hill … although she shivered in delight at the thought of being back there, it didn't leave much time at all for romantic plotting. She would just have to do her best and make sure things had progressed far enough along by the time she left that they didn't need her prodding anymore. It was a steep order … but she, Jane Stuart, was not one to back down in the face of a few difficulties. Weeping mothers and short time frames notwithstanding, this was one plan she intended to carry out successfully.


	20. Chapter 20

Everyone except Mr. Kendall arrived exactly on time, the Westins wriggling with excitement (except Colby, who looked dreadfully shy and out-of-place amongst all the bright chatter and laughter), the Fords overflowing with energy and happiness, and Mrs. Kane forgetful of her embarrassment over wearing a dress that cost … and looked as though it cost … half of what Mrs. Ford's did, and simply talking to that good lady and Mother, three ladies on equal terms.

Jane herself was exhausted … a result of getting up at five and working straight through until ten minutes before her guests arrived, when she dashed upstairs to wash and dress in record time … and had a dreadful headache, but she put on a cheerful smile for her guests, though her eyes continuously strayed to the door, waiting for Mr. Kendall to show up. She didn't _think_ he'd go back on his word and not come after all, but one could never quite be sure with Mr. Kendall.

Gilly Ford and Tracy Westin hit it off right away, tearing through the house with their mouths stuffed full of cookies, with both Abbie and Mrs. Ford attempting in vain to calm them down. Anna and Ally were delighted with little Marilyn and Edwin and hovered over them like they were live dolls. Eden stuck close to Jane's side, chattering away nineteen to the dozen, while Colby calmly detached himself from the crowd and took charge of the smaller boys, herding them out back where they could run and jump and do no damage to anything but perhaps the golden fountains of forsythia crowning the lawn.

While Jane normally would have been delighted at how well her mix of guests were getting along … even Dad came out of his nearly-permanent gloom these days and was talking seriously to Mr. Ford about world affairs … today she was weary and limp and Eden's chatter grated on her nerves. She was starting to pessimistically think that Mr. Kendall wasn't going to come at all, and that this whole party had just been one ridiculous notion, when a decided knock sounded on the door, and he walked in, scowling as usual, but attempting a pleasant expression in light of the occasion.

"Oo-oo-oh!" Eden squealed softly in Jane's ear. "What is he doing here? He's an awful old man, Jane, why would you want him at a party?"

"He is a particular friend of mine," Jane answered haughtily. She managed to get away from Eden long enough to greet Mr. Kendall and take him around to meet all the other guests.

"Mr. Ford, Mrs. Ford," she murmured. "You've met my parents, of course … and this is Mrs. Kane, a dear friend of mine. She's a widow," she added hastily, not wanting him to be discouraged by the "Mrs." appellation.

Mr. Kendall's half-smile froze on his lips, and his eyebrows drew together angrily in the very act of holding out his hand to Mrs. Kane. "We've met," he growled shortly.

Mrs. Kane was white to the lips, but attempted a smile. "It … it's good to see you again, Edward," she said timidly.

"Woman," said Mr. Kendall, while everyone nearby stopped their conversations and watched the two in unabashed amazement and curiosity, "I am a guest in someone else's home, and to observe the rudiments of society I shall refrain from saying how I truly feel at seeing you again." He turned to Jane, who was aghast at the sudden and unexpected twist to all her plans. "I don't know if you brought me here deliberately to mock me, Jane Stuart, but I can assure you I do not appreciate it. I do not want to see your meddling face around my house ever again."

He thrust a neatly wrapped package at her stomach. "Happy birthday," he barked, and stalked back out the door.

Dead silence reigned for several moments as the door slammed shut behind him, the boys' shouts from outside the only thing breaking the thick tension in the room. Then Mrs. Kane put her hand to her head, unobtrusively wiping away a stray tear.

"I rather think I ought to be going, Jane, dear," she said in a brave attempt at normalcy. "I … I seem to have something of a headache. Thank you for a lovely time."

There was nothing to say to that obvious untruth, and Jane could only stand in shock as Mrs. Kane also slipped out the door and hurried down the walk to her own house.

Mrs. Ford, with all the grace and tact of a natural-born lady, immediately started up a story about Gilly's last birthday party, when he and his cousins were sitting on an old, rotted dock and it gave way under their weight, sending them all for an unexpected swim. Mother, bless her, caught up the thread of conversation, and things got underway smoothly again, but all in all, there was a strain over the rest of the afternoon, and it was a relief to all concerned when Jane opened her gifts (all except the one from Mr. Kendall … that she couldn't bear to touch just yet), passed around the cake, and the guests were able to leave.

Eden wanted to stay and talk about Mr. Kendall's shocking behaviour, but for once Abbie had her way, assisted by Colby, who noted Jane's pale, strained face with concern, and all the Westin children were ushered out, Eden still protesting volubly all the way down the path.

Dad, after a silent exchange of looks with Mother, vanished back into his study, and Mother sat down next to Jane on the sofa, resting her smooth cheek against the top of Jane's weary head.

"That was a little … unusual, darling, don't you think? Have you any idea what it all was about?"

"Oh Mummy," Jane sighed. "I've made a dreadful mess. Mr. Kendall was right … I'm nothing but a meddler. I was interfering and poking my nose into other people's affairs … but I had no idea it would end like this. I never meant …"

She swallowed something close to a sob (though she would not cry!) and spilled out the entire story. Mother listened with admirable composure, and if she was inwardly amused at some of Jane's schemes, Jane never knew it.

"But I don't know _what_ made him be so rude to poor Mrs. Kane," she concluded. "I never knew that they knew each other … neither said anything about it … and now she's hurt and he's angry, and somehow it's all my fault, and I never meant for anything like this to happen."

"Jane, Jane," Mother sighed, stroking her daughter's head. "I know you only want to help people, but sometimes you need to stop and think a little before you act. You don't want to end up the type of person who is always interfering … making others feel inferior and useless … do you?"

In a flash, Jane thought of Aunt Irene and her smooth insinuations that she could do _everything_ better than both Jane and Mother. "No … no!" she said in a horrified tone. "I'll never try to help anyone ever again, I swear," she said earnestly. "Mr. Kendall was right, before … it's far better just to tend your own affairs. When people say they only want to help, it always has a selfish motive behind it."

Mother laughed. "I don't think you need go _that_ far, my darling. After all, you have done quite a bit of good for others. Jody would be in an orphanage if it weren't for you wanting to help, among other things. But you must learn that there are times and places for helping, and times to step back and let others do things for themselves."

"But how can I know when I should step in and when I should stay out?" Jane frowned, trying to puzzle it out.

"Little Aunt Em once gave me a very valuable piece of advice," Mother said. "I asked her why she never volunteered help unless I came to her for it, and she said: 'Help isn't really help unless it's asked for.' That's a very good motto to keep in mind."

Jane mused on that for a few moments. "You're right," she said humbly. "When it's asked for, it's help. Otherwise, it's meddling and interfering."

Mother nodded. "Now," she said. "This matter isn't quite settled yet, you know. You have two friends who are very hurt right now. What are you going to do?"

Jane sighed. "I have to go apologize. First Colby, and now this … Mother, will I _ever_ stop making mistakes?"

"Making mistakes and learning from them is part of growing up, my dear," Mother said, hugging her. "And you are growing up wonderfully."

Jane snuggled her head against Mother. Growing up she may have been, but right now she was content to be a little girl in her mother's arms.

"Now," said Mother, a note of mischievousness entering her voice. "Are you ready for your birthday present from your father and me?"

Jane sat up straight. "Where is it?"

Mother laughed. "You'll see." She raised her voice. "Andrew!"

Dad appeared from the study. "Is it safe to come out?" he inquired.

"It's time to tell her," Mother said.

"Tell me what?" Jane demanded, tingling all over, shame and disgrace temporarily forgotten.

Dad came over and put his hand on Mother's head, waiting for her to speak. "Jane," she said, tears trembling at the ends of her long lashes. "In November … you're going to have a baby brother or sister."

Jane gasped. "Truly?"

"Yes, truly," Dad said, his voice as gentle as it had been for several weeks now. He bent and kissed Mother's head. "We wanted to make sure everything was going to be safe before we told you … but your mother went to the doctor yesterday, and everything is just fine." He smiled joyously. "We're having a baby, Superior Jane!"

Jane jumped up and hugged them both, thinking she was going to go crazy with delight. A real baby … a sweet little child like Teddy Ford, but one that was theirs, all theirs. "Oh, Mummy," she said, laughing and almost crying. "This has turned out to be the best birthday ever, after all."

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_ _Well, you've been suspecting it ... now you know! Robin and Andrew are having a baby. To those of you who've been missing Meggie, I at least wanted to get to this point in Jane's story before proceeding with Meggie's ... Jane makes an appearance in the next chapter or so, and I didn't want to spoil this surprise by letting out there that she has a younger sibling. Now that I've got this out of the way, I'll probably be moving back and forth between the two with more regularity. As always, reviews make me update faster!_


	21. Chapter 21

Jane was, unusually for her, feeling quite unsure about herself as she walked through the golden twilight toward Elysium. Normally the beauty of the fading mellow daylight would have made her rapturous with its beauty, but her fear over the upcoming interview clouded all her thoughts and emotions. This was even worse than when she'd had to apologise to Colby … at least then she'd known _what_ she'd done wrong. Oh, she knew that she had done wrong to meddle in this case of Mr. Kendall and Mrs. Kane, but the specifics of why she had hurt them so were still a mystery. Still, she reminded herself sternly, it was none of her business; all she was going to do was tell Mrs. Kane she was very sorry for causing her pain, deposit a plate of cookies freshly baked that morning, and leave the rest up to her.

Jane knew she would eventually have to apologise to Mr. Kendall as well, but even her stubbornly brave spirit quailed at that. He had been so very angry! If he was still that angry with her, if he still believed she had done … whatever it was … on purpose to humiliate him … well, Jane supposed he wouldn't physically injure her, but she shuddered to think of what he would say.

All too soon, the walk ended, and Jane found herself standing at Mrs. Kane's front door, a plate of cookies in one hand, the other poised to knock. She didn't even remember coming up the walkway, but here she was, and there was no turning back now. She drew a deep breath, said a quick prayer, and knocked.

Mrs. Kane answered so quickly that Jane suspected her of hovering just inside the door. She looked the same as always, calm and composed, even with a little smile on her face.

"Jane," she said, relief evident in her voice. She surprised the girl by pulling her into a quick hug. "I'm so glad you came. I've been meaning to come see you for the last two days, but I'm such a rotten coward, I couldn't quite bring myself to."

Jane, having expected a far frostier reception, was so stunned she forgot her manners and said nothing at all.

"Come in," Mrs. Kane continued, shutting the door firmly behind her and taking her sweater. "Now," turning very serious, "Jane, can you ever forgive me for spoiling your birthday party like that? It was very rude of me to rush out, and I don't expect you to be able to understand … but I'm terribly, terribly sorry."

Surprise and relief combined gave Jane back her voice. "Why, I came here to apologise to you!" she exclaimed.

"You?" Mrs. Kane asked, her eyebrows rising a trifle. "Why do you need to be sorry?"

"Why, because I brought you and Mr. Kendall together like that and caused you both such pain. Mrs. Kane, you must believe me, I had no idea you knew each other … I never would have done anything to hurt you deliberately."

"Gracious child, I know that!" Mrs. Kane said. "I never for a moment blamed you. If anything, it was my fault … I knew you were acquainted with Edward, and I should have expected you to invite him. I simply didn't think … he hates society so, I never dreamed he would ever come out of his hermitage." She twisted her mouth ruefully.

"He didn't want to," Jane admitted. "I had to beg. But, Mrs. Kane, you don't know the worst of it …" determined to make a clean breast of things … "I invited both of you _specifically_ … I planned the entire birthday party around it … I wanted to play matchmaker, and this was the result." She hung her head.

To her everlasting shock, Mrs. Kane laughed. "Oh, my poor Jane. And poor Edward," she added as an afterthought. "Jane," she continued firmly. "I think it's time you heard the truth behind Edward's and my past. I haven't wanted to tell it to you before because … well, it is still rather painful, and to be perfectly honest, I don't exactly shine as a beacon of light in it." She took the cookies from Jane's hand. "Come into the kitchen, I'll pour us some tea, and we can have a snack while I tell you all about it."

"I know something about Mr. Kendall's past," Jane told her, trailing along behind her toward the kitchen. "Eden told me that he was engaged to be married, and his fiancée ran off with his best friend, and he went mad and killed them both the morning after they got married, and then disappeared until he moved to Lakeside Gardens a few years ago. Not," she added honestly, "that I believe all that, but that's what Eden says."

Mrs. Kane sighed as she poured the hot water into the teapot. "How things get distorted …" she murmured.

Nothing more was said until both were sitting at the big table with their teacups and cookies in front of them. Mrs. Kane picked up a cookie, regarded it thoughtfully, and began crumbling it to pieces as she spoke.

"Here is the truth of the matter, Jane Stuart, and you may believe it to be so, because not only was I there, I was one of the participants, and not a day goes by that I don't regret my actions. More people than Edward were hurt by what I did.

"I met Edward when I was sixteen, at a party hosted by my aunt. It was my 'coming-out' party, and although he was a good five years older than I, I fell in love with him at once." She smiled shyly. "It took him a bit longer, but by the time I was seventeen, we were engaged to be married. My parents didn't approve … Edward was not a famous author at that point, and his social standing was a good bit lower than ours, but I didn't care. We were so happy." Her voice trailed off, and she absently brushed the cookie crumbs from her fingers.

"What happened?" Jane asked breathlessly.

Mrs. Kane's mouth twisted bitterly. "I was a fool. My parents wanted us to wait until I was at least twenty-one before we married. Edward didn't want to wait that long, and insisted we get married right away. We fought … oh, how we fought over it. I told him I was already defying them enough by marrying him, I wasn't going to make things any worse. His pride was hurt by the thought that they didn't think him good enough for me …"

_Like Dad and Mother,_ Jane thought sympathetically.

… "and we had a bitter argument. You may not believe to look at me now, Jane … eighteen years has taught me patience … but I had a ferocious temper when I was a girl. Well, I told Edward to go away until he could be civil, and he … for which I could not forgive him … took me at my word.

"Two days later, Edward's closest friend came to see me, to plead with me to relent and forgive Edward. I told him I never could, he told me he knew how frustrating Edward could be, but for the sake of my future happiness to give in, I told him it was impossible … Michael came to see me every day after that, to encourage me to make up with Edward. My parents encouraged his visits … he was from a very wealthy family, and they thought his attentions might lead me to forget Edward … and we grew close. Toward the end, when he would visit, we wouldn't talk about Edward at all, but about us. We found we had a great deal in common, and I began to wonder what I had even seen in Edward in the first place."

"Did you marry him?" Jane asked.

Mrs. Kane laughed ruefully. "Don't rush the story, Jane. Well, this went on for months, and then the War began. Edward, of course, joined up at once. He came to see me just before he shipped out, the first time I'd seen him since our fight. He asked me to marry him right then, no fuss or waiting, so that he would have something to come home to. And I … in my pride, I refused. I wanted a big wedding, I told him, so that nobody could say I was ashamed of my husband. If we married in that much haste, people would be sure to think that something was wrong. When he came home, I said, I would marry him." She shook her head. "I can still hear the patronizing tone I used with him … Lord, what a beast I was! Edward told me that _if_ he came home, he certainly _would_ marry me, and what anybody else said be … darned!" Mrs. Kane hesitated over that last word, leading Jane to suspect that perhaps Mr. Kendall had used slightly stronger language.

"So Edward went overseas, and then a month later Michael joined up. He, too, came to me before leaving, and confessed that he had fallen in love with me. He never would have said anything, he told me, but when I sent Edward away, he hoped that we had ended things and he might have a chance. He had even spoken to my parents, asking for their blessing, and they had consented. They said we could get married that very next day, if we wanted, so that we would have some time together as husband and wife before he left."

"And so you did?"

"And so I did. What I had refused to do with Edward a mere month before, I did with Michael gladly and with no qualms. I told myself that Edward had never really loved me, that we had only been swept off our feet by the romance of it all, and that Michael and I were far more suited to each other.

"Michael and I were married, and had a week together as husband and wife before he left for the front. There, as you know, he was killed. I left my parents' home and moved in with his mother, a penance for all the pain I'd caused. You see, Jane, not only had I broken Edward's heart, I'd destroyed his friendship with Michael. He felt betrayed by us both, not realising that I had never told Michael I was still promised to him. Michael died before they could reconcile, and so three lives were ruined by my thoughtlessness. I never saw Edward again until I moved here last year. I had no idea he was living here … talk about a coincidence! … and I certainly made sure he never saw me."

"And so you've been living within two blocks of each other, and never met until my party," Jane breathed. "Oh, Mrs. Kane, I _am_ sorry."

"It wasn't your fault, Jane," Mrs. Kane said firmly. "The blame is mine. All of it, for everything," she sighed. "Edward will never forgive me … why should he? … and now I've hurt his friendship with you, as well."

"Nonsense," Jane said strongly. "Mr. Kendall has too much sense to hold a grudge like that for long." She believed it even as she said, and the thought cheered her up immensely as she prepared for her visit to him. "And you know, it might not be too late, after all. He might forgive you, if you asked him."

Mrs. Kane shook her head. "No. Even if he could, I don't deserve it. He hates me now, Jane, and rightly so." She shook her head as though to clear it of memory, and looked down at her plate with an air of surprise. "Dear me, I seem to have destroyed all your delicious cookies."

"Never mind," Jane said, laughing at the plate of crumbs, "I made more."

The afternoon ended on a pleasant note, but as Jane walked home, she couldn't help but ponder Mrs. Kane's tale. It was so tragic, and yet so simple. She was sure that Mr. Kendall could be reconciled to Mrs. Kane, if one just found the right way to bring it about …

She shook her head sternly. "No meddling," she said aloud. Whatever was going to happen between the two former lovers had to be on their own terms. She would _not_ get involved.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** So here it is, the true story behind Mr. Kendall and Mrs. Kane. In case anyone is confused as to the timing differences between this story and Meggie of Green Gables (in which Jane made an appearance in the latest chapter), it is currently June 1936 in that story, and May 1935 in this one. So now you know. Please review! I don't like to post new chapters until I get at least two reviews for the previous one; otherwise how can I know if I need to change or explain something?_


	22. Chapter 22

Jane was not able to make things up with Mr. Kendall before leaving Toronto after all. She put it off until just two days before they were scheduled to leave, and then when she went, he refused to answer the door. She _knew_ he was home … she'd seen him sitting on the porch on her way up the street, and there was nowhere else for him to hide but inside … but the door remained stubbornly locked, knocked she never so loudly. Finally, frustrated and slightly miffed, Jane gave up and left, returning later that evening to slip a letter of apology into his box. A horribly stiff, stilted letter is was, too … but writing was not Jane's forte. Had she been able to speak to Mr. Kendall, she could have won his forgiveness in a matter of moments, but when it came to a letter, she only managed to sound offended at _his_ offence, and only to be apologising to remain with the borders of society's requirements.

She _knew_ the letter came across poorly, but she was perfectly helpless in the matter, leaving her perfectly furious as well. Had she been a few years younger, she would have stamped her foot over the matter, but as it was, she only tightened her lips into her uncanny and unconscious imitation of Grandmother Kennedy.

"If he refuses to be reasonable, there is little I can do," she told herself. "I won't worry about it anymore."

Sensible advice though this might have been, a little undercurrent of unhappiness remained, spoiling Jane's anticipation of returning to Lantern Hill. Everything else was delightful … the Westins came and wished her a happy summer, and even mentioned that they might try to visit sometime in August … Mrs. Stedman and Sunny and Lali sent a merry note, wishing them all happiness … Mrs. Kane mourned cheerfully at how dull things were going to be without Jane dropping in every day .. and joy of joys, the Fords were going to be traveling out at the same time, and they could all go together! It was all completely delightful, if only Jane didn't have that silly quarrel with Mr. Kendall still on her conscience.

Still, nothing could quite rob her of her happiness when the ferry docked at the wharf and she stepped on the Island's red soil once more.

"Home again," Mrs. Ford sighed, beaming. "No matter how long I'm gone, as soon as I come back, I feel as though no time has passed."

"Time is passing, though, Rilla-my-Rilla," laughed Mr. Ford, clinging to Teddy's collar to keep him from running off to explore the docks. "And we must be off if we want to reach Ingleside by nightfall."

"Of course, Ken," Mrs. Ford acknowledged. "Robin, Andrew, Jane, it was so lovely traveling out with you. You will come visit us on our little island sometime this summer?"

"Yes, you have to come," Ally said, swinging on Jane's hand. "I want to show you absolutely _everything_."

"Of course we'll come," Mother said warmly. "Thank you for the invitation, Rilla."

"We'll come as long as we're all feeling up to it," Dad added sternly, eyeing Mother cautiously. She had not been at all well on the ferry, and Jane knew he was worried about another boat trip, even if it was just across the harbour.

Mother pursed her lips together and blushed, not liking any reference to her condition, but Mrs. Ford just laughed, said she understood perfectly, and then the six of them swept into a rental car and drove off toward Glen St. Mary, Mrs. Ford's old home.

"Come along, my ladies," Dad said, hoisting their bags. "We have a train to catch. Irene is expecting us for dinner."

Mother and Jane exchanged wry glances behind Dad's back. Dinner at Aunt Irene's was something of a tradition of sorts now, but Dad was the only one who really seemed to enjoy it.

"Ah, now that's good cooking," he'd say after the meal, leaving Jane furious over the insinuation that he hadn't tasted decent food since they last saw her.

"Oh 'Drew, you're looking so worn and run-down; I think you're working too hard," Aunt Irene would purr, making Mother instantly feel wretched for not encouraging him to work less … when everyone _knew_ that he stayed up late at nights writing simply because he _liked_ it.

Sometimes, "Robin, you really should let me help you this summer. I know it's just too much for you and dear Janie," would make both of them practically speechless with frustration.

No, dinner at Aunt Irene's was a chore, but Jane consoled herself with the thought that at least it was only one night … then they would be back at darling Lantern Hill, and Aunt Irene's annoyances would be regulated to their proper perspective.

At least she didn't know about Jane's failed attempts at matchmaking! Jane could only _imagine_ the amused little jabs Aunt Irene would give over that.

Sure enough, Aunt Irene immediately smothered Mother at the door with hugs. "Robin dear," she gushed. "Come in … aren't you cold? Let me fetch you a sweater. Really, 'Drew, what were you thinking, letting her travel in such a thin dress?"

"I don't need …" Mother was beginning, but Aunt Irene swept over her ruthlessly. "Jane dear, get your mother a sweater from her bag. Oh you three," playfully shaking her finger at them. "You've no more sense than babes yourself! You ought to rent a house in town this year, 'Drew, so I can take care of Robin."

"I can take care of Mother," Jane said stiffly, handing Aunt Irene Mother's darling red cotton sweater.

"I know you like to think so, Jane, but if you could, you wouldn't need me to tell you that she needed a sweater, would you? Now Robin, lay down on the couch, put this pillow under your head … no, no, Janie, not that one, can't you see the embroidery on it? Your mother would crush it. That plain one, dear, thank you … here Robin, put on your sweater, let me put the afghan over your legs, and you just rest while 'Drew, Jane and I eat our dinner. I'll bring you a nice bowl of broth afterward, and maybe some toast." She shook her head sadly. "Such a helpless thing," she sighed. "Not much strength, either. I do hope …"

She sighed again and led Dad into the dining room. Jane wrinkled her nose at Mother, who opened one eye to wink at her.

"Jane," she muttered. "I'm stifling under all these covers. And I'm _starving_."

Jane quickly squelched the giggle that threatened to escape … Aunt Irene might hear it and want to know the joke. "Don't worry, Mums," she whispered back. "I'll sneak you some cake after supper."

Mother closed her eyes again and dramatically draped one hand across her forehead. "My hero," she said.

"Jane!" Aunt Irene called sharply. "Let your mother rest! Your father and I are waiting for you. Really," she continued, as Jane hastily slid into her seat, "I would hope that by now you would have learned _some_ manners. But," sighing … of course … "you always were too stubborn to listen to helpful instruction. I did think that in time …"

"Pass the salad, Aunt Irene?" Jane said briskly.

Aunt Irene did so … and sighed.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** I am horrified at how long I've gone with this story without an update. I will try to be more diligent in the future. For now, show your forgiveness by leaving reviews? Yes, I am shameful, but then, aren't we all? Review, please!  
_


	23. Chapter 23

Jane breathed a prayer of thankfulness as they drove away from Aunt Irene's. She had nearly worn Mother to a thread with her fussing and clucking … leaving Jane, as usual, helpless to stop her. Dad, also as usual, seemed oblivious to Aunt Irene's smothering manner, actually _thanking_ her for all her concern for Robin.

"I've been worried about her," he said just before leaving. "We have a good doctor in Toronto, but … I'm glad to know you are nearby."

Just as if Jane couldn't take care of Mother perfectly well on her own!

"It's _no_ trouble, 'Drew," Aunt Irene assured him. "I've been feeling a little tired and run-down myself lately … but of _course_ dear Robin's needs _must_ come first … that's only natural _now_. Leave everything to me. Rest assured, I won't spare _myself_ at all. _Nothing_ but the best for _dear_ Robin."

And on that note, they drove off, leaving Jane already sick of Aunt Irene's italics and insinuations.

The drive was beautiful enough to make up for all Irene's unpleasantness. It was a sparkling June morning highly reminiscent of the first one Jane had ever spent on the Island, five years ago. The sun was shining so purely and brightly that Jane felt certain he was glad to be looking down on such a lovely day. The sky was that clear, clean blue one only sees on Prince Edward Island in June, with just a few puffy clouds scattered here and there, so white they almost hurt one's eyes. The red road stretched out endlessly before and behind, the sea beckoned them alluringly … and Lantern Hill awaited them. Jane almost bounced on the seat before remembering that she was fourteen and must act with a _degree_ of maturity now.

Aunt Irene had teasingly asked her if she had a boyfriend yet, and when Jane had calmly replied "no," poured out her surprise and pity.

"Not yet! And so old! Well, but you are a very _young_ fourteen. I've always said that about you, Janie … you're such a _child_ in so many ways. But really, Jane dear, we must try to act our age, mustn't we? After all, we don't want to be a child _forever_, and grow into an old spinster, do we?"

Jane longed to say something regarding Aunt Irene's use of pronouns, but with Dad's eye upon her she dared not.

Still, she didn't want to give Aunt Irene … or anyone … any more opportunities to jab her regarding her maturity … or insinuate that she wasn't old enough to take care of Mother … so she restrained her enthusiasm, even when she saw a hollow smothered in dancing purple violets.

"What's a good rhyme for 'violet,' Jane?" Dad asked suddenly.

"Pilot," Jane answered promptly.

Dad thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. "I cannot reconcile them," he said sadly.

"No," Jane agreed, after thinking it over herself. "Neither can I."

"Robin!" Dad said, looking back at Mother's lovely figure seated in the backseat. "Shall we name our daughter Violet?"

"The road, Andrew," Mother pleaded.

"We can't use Violet," Jane said, scandalized. "What about Miss Violet Titus?"

"True," Dad confessed. "I had forgotten that worthy woman. Robin! Put Violet out of your mind; Jane forbids it."

Jane laughed. Dad really was in a crazy mood this morning. "How about … Rose?" she suggested, pointing to the tiny wild roses that had entwined themselves all over the leaning fence beside the road.

Dad shook his head. "Too common. We might as well name her Buttercup!"

"Or Apple Blossom."

"Or Dandelion."

"Or … say, Dad, how about Birch?" Jane saw that lovely slim, silvered trunk stretching up to the sky, boughs outstretched as though to embrace the sun, and thought how lovely it would be to be named after such a beautiful thing.

"Birch Stuart," Dad said, testing the name on his tongue. "I don't know, my Jane … it's a lovely name on its own, but mixed with Stuart it sounds rather awful."

"I suppose," Jane said, crestfallen.

"What if we have a boy?" Mother asked from the back.

"John," Dad said promptly. "A good, old-fashioned name nobody can find fault with."

"Not Andrew?"

"John Andrew, then."

"I thought you liked Buttercup," Jane teased.

Dad laughed. "Silence, wretch! I'll listen to no more of your wild fancies."

Jane sighed happily. "Oh Dad, isn't it marvelous to think that we're going to have a baby?"

"It certainly is," Dad agreed seriously. He risked taking his eyes off the road just long enough to peek back at Mother, her hands resting tenderly on her slightly-swollen belly. "It certainly is."

Mother opened her eyes. "Look," she said softly. "Lantern Hill."

Jane and Dad both turned eyes front again. There it was … their darling home. White as the clouds above, with shutters as green as the fresh grass, it beckoned to them, calling them … welcoming them home.

And there, waiting for them on the front steps, were all her friends! Jody and Min and Punch and Shingle and Ding-Dong and all the rest … all waving enthusiastically and yelling in excitement, Jody as eager and loud as any of them.

Jane promptly forgot her vow to act more mature as she tumbled out of the car almost before Dad brought it to a full stop and embraced her friends wildly. They had so much news! And they all tried to tell it at once, shouting to be heard over the rest.

"Oh Jane, I'm so glad you're back …"

"Jane, what do you think? Miranda had her baby and she named it Francesca … said it sounded romantic …"

"Jane, I bet I can beat you in a swimming race now …"

"Jane, we found a new place to pick berries this summer … it's hidden away in the woods, nobody but us knows where it is …"

"Jane, Miss Justina and Step-a-yard are _engaged_!"

"It's all right, though, I'm still going to live with Aunt Violet, and spend the weekends with Aunt Justina and Step-a-yard …"

"He's building a new house for them …"

"And she's filling a hope chest!"

"She wants to have a white wedding dress, but Aunt Violet says that's ridiculous at her age …"

"Jane, Ma and I saved you some pork from our last pig if you want it, and I'm going to sell vegetables again this summer to buy _her_ a new winter dress …"

"Jane, I can walk on my hands now, and I think we should do another circus so I can be a clown!"

"Jane, Jane, Jane!" battered her from every side, and she laughed bewilderedly as she tried to take it all in.

Dad escorted Mother up the path, and the babble died away into a reverent hush as they stared at her rounded stomach.

"Shoo," Dad said brusquely, but with a smile so they would know he wasn't upset. "You can come pester Jane this evening. Right now we need to get settled."

They fled, Millicent Mary turning her head to stare at Mother even as she ran.

"See you tonight, Jane!" Jody yelled.

"She really seems a different girl," Mother marveled, watching them scatter. "And so pretty!"

Jody _was_ pretty, Jane decided, prettier now than she had been even last summer. Her black hair shone in the sunlight with a rich, full luster, and her velvety eyes were deep and mysterious with all the promises of young womanhood. She had lovely color in her cheeks, and her full mouth seemed curved permanently into a vibrant smile. Even her figure had rounded nicely over the winter, leaving Jane feeling like a plain, ordinary, straight up-and-down stick.

Thankfully it wasn't in her nature to be jealous, and after that one momentary pang of wishing to be as pretty as Jody, she was able to revel in her friend's beauty and rejoice over the part she had played in bringing it to light … for had Jody never come to live with the Titus sisters, she would still be the ragged, heartbroken child of their 60 Gay days.

Mother smiled teasingly at Jane as Dad settled her inside and went back out to start bringing in their bags. "I suppose now you'll be trying to match Jody up with one of your friends?"

"No, indeed," Jane answered fervently. "I've had enough of matchmaking for good. I'm just going to enjoy this summer wholeheartedly, without worrying about anything or anyone else. I'm not even going to interfere with Miss Violet and Miss Justina's debate over whether Miss Justina should wear a white wedding gown or not!"

And that, as Mother knew full well, was the high water mark of Jane's sacrifice.


	24. Chapter 24

It was, Jane decided, going to be a perfect summer … despite Aunt Irene's far too frequent visits. Jane had taken to hustling Mother out the door as soon as Aunt Irene purred up in her car (even her car was like a sleek, taffy-colored cat!), just to avoid exhausting Mother. It was always a strain on poor dear Mother, listening to all of Aunt Irene's warnings about pregnancies,

"so late in life … oftentimes the baby is born dead or deformed, you know, Robin, and just think how sad … even if he is perfectly healthy, you and Andrew won't live to see his children …"

Mother, whose was not even thirty-five, would inevitably start to worry after hearing such dire predictions, always uttered in a perfectly sweet, loving, smothering tone. Always after one of Aunt Irene's visits she ended up lying down upstairs with a cold washcloth on her forehead, while the healthy baby kicked and turned somersaults inside her womb.

So Jane took matters into her own hands and insisted that Mother leave for a walk down by the shore whenever Aunt Irene showed up.

"I ought to stay and face her," Mother protested feebly one morning, as Jane pushed her out the door. "I don't want her to think I'm afraid to meet her."

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist, Mummy," Jane said firmly. "It isn't healthy, you know it isn't, and the doctor said you were to avoid all unnecessary strain. If," putting her finger unerringly on Mother's weak spot, "you don't go, I'll tell Dad Aunt Irene is bothering you."

Mother would rather do anything than bring up to Dad the problems between her and Irene, and Jane knew it. She submitted with a sigh and ran, as lightly as a girl despite her increased size, through the garden and down to the shore, where the sun sparkled on her golden curls as the little wavelets kissed her feet."

"Alone again, Jane?" Aunt Irene asked significantly. "I'm not so sure it's a wise idea for your mother to keep going for these solitary walks in the heat. What if she faints and nobody's there to help her?"

"It's a beautiful day," Jane pointed out, getting out her nicest company teapot … no chance for Aunt Irene to poke fun at Jane's dishes! "There's a lovely breeze. I don't think Mother's in any danger."

Aunt Irene sat down a trifle heavily for her. "I hope you're right, Janie. You're always so certain of yourself … I just hope poor dear Robin doesn't suffer for it one of these days … sometimes I think she leans a _little_ too heavily on you for advice … it's not always healthy, you know, for a mother to be so reliant on her daughter. Your grandmother Kennedy was always quite dependent on your mother, and well, _we_ know what came of that, don't we?"

Jane was actually speechless with fury (a rare state for Superior Jane). The idea that Mother was anything like Grandmother! Why, she would never try to control Jane the way Grandmother controlled her. The idea was so ludicrous to be amusing.

Jane's anger died away as a tickled light came into her golden-brown eyes. Aunt Irene saw it and was rather annoyed. Would _nothing_ reach that child?

"Have you been baking in here today, Jane?" she asked, fanning herself with her hat. "It feels quite warm …"

Jane hadn't done any baking, as a matter of fact, and a pleasant breeze was blowing through the open windows, scenting the house with the delectable odor of June and keeping everything cool. She looked closer at her aunt.

Irene did have genuine beads of sweat forming on her temples and trickling down her neck. Her eyes looked vaguely unfocused, and she was unusually flushed.

"Aunt Irene, are you feeling well?" Jane asked in alarm. "Maybe I should go find Dad."

Aunt Irene waved her off with a languid hand. "Don't trouble yourself, dearie. I'm just fine … just a little warm …"

Her words slurred together, and her head suddenly slumped forward onto the table. Jane stood as one petrified for a moment, then leapt for the door.

"Dad!" she hollered … yes, hollered, with no pretence of dignity left … "Mother! Come quick!" She scanned the shore, but could see no signs of either parent. She knew Dad was clamming with Uncle Tombstone … but she wouldn't have believed that Mother could have disappeared from ear- and eyeshot so quickly. And _why_ couldn't Dad and Uncle Tombstone have dug for clams nearer Lantern Hill?

She raced back into the kitchen, frantically patting Aunt Irene's hands and cheeks. She wet a cloth and dabbed at her aunt's forehead and neck, but the unconscious woman showed no signs of opening her eyes.

The phone! Jane leapt again, this time for the black instrument, thankful for the first time that they had one. She fervently apologized to God for every time she had complained about it as she dialed the doctor's number. She had memorized it as soon as she knew that Mother was having a baby, just in case they needed help while at Lantern Hill.

"Dr. Camlyn's office," a cool, impersonal voice answered.

"This is Jane Stuart," that girl said crisply, her nerves starting to return now that she was _doing_ something productive. "I need to speak with Dr. Camlyn."

"The doctor is with a patient right now," the woman said.

"I need you to fetch her," Jane said imperiously. "This is an emergency."

Either Jane's tone or the dreaded word 'emergency' had its effect on the secretary, for a few moments later Jane heard a different woman's voice on the other end of the line, this one warm and interested.

"This is Dr. Camlyn," she said. "What is your emergency?"

After a moment's surprise that Dr. Camlyn was a _woman_ (the doctor Jane knew, old Dr. Spence, had retired over the winter, and Jane hadn't heard anything about his successor), and a young-sounding one at that, Jane answered.

"It's my aunt. She was complaining about the heat, and then suddenly her voice slurred and she fainted, and I can't wake her up. I'm all alone here," … try as she might, Jane couldn't keep a forlorn note from entering her voice at that word …, "and I don't know what to do. Can you come help?"

"Where are you?"

"Lantern Hill."

"I'll be there in five minutes. Loosen your aunt's cuffs and colors and keep her as cool and comfortable as possible."

"Thank you," Jane said fervently, and hung up.

She obeyed the doctor's instructions, even to the point of bringing a pillow down and sliding it under Aunt Irene's head as she kept fanning her. Still, it was a tense five minutes before a gleaming green convertible coupe pulled up to the gate and a slim woman with long, shiny black hair and deep green eyes hopped out and hurried up the path.

"Dr. Camlyn?" Jane asked, surprised again at the woman's youth and stunning looks.

"Jane Stuart?" the woman countered with a friendly smile, and Jane recognized the voice.

The two sized each other up for a long moment … and they were friends. As Mrs. Ford would have said, they were both of the race that knew Joseph.

"In here," Jane said, hurrying in to Aunt Irene.

Dr Camlyn bent over the still-unconscious woman, her dark hair swishing over one cheek. "Hmm," she said after a brief examination.

"Hmm?" Jane repeated. "Is that good or bad?"

"I'm not sure yet." The doctor straightened. "I would like to lie her down so I can examine her more fully. Are you alone here?"

"Yes," Jane said. "But I have friends nearby who can help us, if we need them. They're not exactly quiet, though," she added doubtfully.

Dr. Camlyn's smile broke through her serious features again. When she smiled, Jane noticed, her eyes slanted up at the corners almost in an Oriental fashion. She really was beautiful, Jane thought admiringly. "You look sturdy enough," she said. "And I'm far stronger than I look. I think we can manage. I'll take her shoulders if you can take her feet."

With the promptness that marked her way of life, Jane bent down and seized Aunt Irene's feet. The two young women lifted her with little difficulty and carried her upstairs to the guest room.

"Now," Dr. Camlyn said, her quick eyes taking everything in, "I see a man and woman coming toward the house from the shore. Your parents, I'm assuming. Leave me here with my patient, and run down and tell them what's happening."

Jane glanced out the window. Sure enough, Mother and Dad were walking slowly back to the house. Dad had a bucket of clams in one hand, while the other was around Mother's shoulders. Mother was carrying her shoes, and laughter and love were visible in her eyes even from the second story of the house. Jane hated to disturb them with the news about Aunt Irene … but she supposed she had to.

"Call me if you need help with anything," she told Dr. Camlyn, and darted downstairs and out the door.

"Jane?" Mother said. "What's wrong?"

"Aunt Irene fainted," Jane said bluntly. She continued, cutting off Dad's startled exclamation and Mother's worried gasp. "I called the doctor, and she's with her now."

"She?" Dad said, arrested in the act of hurrying for the house. "Where's Dr. Spence?"

"Retired, remember? Dr. Camlyn knows what she's doing, though. I like her," Jane said calmly, unconsciously influencing her parents in favor of the young woman doctor. "She's with her in the guest room, but you'll have to wait until she's done to talk to her or see Aunt Irene."

"Very well," Dad growled, shoving his hands in his pockets and prowling irritably around the garden. "Irene's never been ill a day in her life that I can remember. What in blazes possessed her to faint?"

"I'm sure the doctor will find out," Mother soothed. "Don't worry, Andrew."

Dad stopped and swung around, staring up at the guest room window. "Irene's been like a mother to me, you know. If anything happens to her …"

He trailed off. Jane snuggled up to him and squeezed his hand. "It won't, Dad. Dr. Camlyn and I won't let it."


	25. Chapter 25

Aunt Irene was sick, very sick. In fact, Dr. Camlyn recommended that she not be moved for a time until she was more stable.

"I don't want Mrs. Stuart to go near her, though," the doctor warned. "I don't think she is contagious, but we don't want to take any chances."

"I suppose we can hire a nurse to take care of Irene," Dad began hesitantly. "Robin and Jane can return to Toronto, and I'll stay here."

"Oh _no_, Dad!" Jane cried. "You and Mother need to stay together."

"We can't leave Irene here alone, with only a nurse," Dad reminded her testily.

Jane hesitated, gulped, and took the plunge. "I'll stay with her, Dad," she said heroically. "And you and Mums don't have to go back to Toronto, either. You know the Fords wanted you to visit … I'm sure they'd be happy to have you stay with them until the danger has passed."

"Jane, we can't ask you to stay here all by yourself," Mother protested. Mother knew how difficult it would be for _her_ to take care of Irene Stuart without any company to take the edge off, and she couldn't bear putting her daughter through that.

"I'll be fine, Mums," Jane lied through her teeth.

"Robin, maybe you should just go to the Fords, and I'll stay here with Jane and Irene," Dad suggested.

"_No_, Dad," Jane insisted. "I'll be just fine, honest. Besides, if you're here you'll just worry Aunt Irene. She'll think she needs to take care of you, and she won't get the rest she needs. Am I right?" turning to Dr. Camlyn, who had been watching this three-way exchange with an amused look in her green eyes.

"Absolutely," Dr. Camlyn backed her up. "Mrs. Fraser needs complete rest right now in order to recover, and the more people she has around, the harder that will be. If Jane …" already she was 'Jane,' not 'Miss Stuart,' "… is willing to take on the task, I think that will work nicely. In fact, I should be able to stop by every day to check on her, so I doubt you'll even need a nurse. Can you feed and bathe your aunt, turn her every hour to prevent bedsores, assist her in her personal needs, and give her medicine every hour?" she challenged Jane.

"Yes," Jane said stoutly. To be sure, she'd never done any of those things, but if it would get Mother and Dad away, she would do them all cheerfully and well.

"There you have it then. Mr. and Mrs. Stuart, I suggest you pack your bags and leave as soon as possible."

"I'll call Mrs. Ford," Jane offered, springing up.

As Jane had suspected, Mrs. Ford was more than happy to have Mother and Dad stay with her for as long as they liked. She even offered to have her brother from Glen St. Mary come check on Aunt Irene.

"Jem's a wonderful doctor," she said with sisterly pride. "I'm sure this woman doctor knows what she is doing, but I hear she's very young, and Jem's been doing this for years. Or my father could come! He's semi-retired now, but for a family friend I'm sure he'd be willing to … no? Are you sure? Very well then."

Jane appreciated the kind offer, but she already had unwavering faith in Dr. Camlyn.

In a remarkably short amount of time, Jane and the good doctor had Mother and Dad packed and in the car, ready to go to the Fords.

"Call us if you need anything," Mother pleaded.

"Call us _every day_ with an update," Dad corrected.

"Stay safe."

"Take good care of your aunt."

"Don't wear yourself out, dearest Jane."

"For goodness sake, don't clean my study if you get the urge to tidy."

Jane stood there, framed in the doorway, a sturdy, laughing figure. "Go!" she ordered. "I will call every day, I won't clean Dad's study, I will take _exquisite_ care of Aunt Irene _and_ myself, and you are not to worry about a thing!"

Finally, they drove off, Mother looking back and blowing kisses until they were out of sight.

Jane looked at Dr. Camlyn. Dr. Camlyn looked at Jane.

"Well, Jane Stuart, do you think you can take this?"

Jane smiled and tilted her chin indomitably. "What do I have to do?"

Dr. Camlyn laughed. "I like you, Jane. I think we will make a good team."

"So do I," Jane said. Up until now, all her energies had been focused on getting Mother and Dad away. She hadn't, she realized guiltily, given much thought to the invalid upstairs. "Is Aunt Irene very bad?" she asked penitently.

"I'm afraid so," Dr. Camlyn said gravely. "We're in for a stiff fight, Jane."

Again that square chin rose in a manner the doctor would soon find very familiar. "Then we'd best get to work. Tell me what to do."

The two went back inside, where Dr. Camlyn wrote out a list of Jane's duties. She handed it to the younger girl upon completion, watching her face closely as she read it, looking for any signs of uncertainty or weakness. She evidently approved of what she saw, for when Jane looked up from the lengthy catalog, Dr. Camlyn seemed satisfied.

"If," she warned nonetheless, "you ever think you can't do all of this, call me immediately. Don't try to do more than you can handle. That will only make things worse in the long run."

"I understand," Jane said solemnly.

"And do you understand everything on the list?" Again those sharp eyes fastened on Jane's face.

"Yes," Jane said without hesitation.

"You're sure? This is no time to let false pride interfere with admitting ignorance."

"I'm sure," Jane insisted. "I wouldn't say it if I wasn't."

That sweetly charming smile broke over the doctor's face. "I didn't think you would," she said, "but I had to be positive. I'll be on my way now, but I'll stop back this evening with Mrs. Fraser's medicine. Would you like me to pick anything else up for you, since you won't be able to get away?"

"No, thank you," Jane said, thinking things through. "We won't need any groceries for a few days, with Aunt Irene only taking fluids and Mother and Dad gone. If I do need anything, I can just ask one of the Jimmy Johns to run and fetch it for me."

"Very well. I'll see you this evening, then. Remember, call me if anything changes or you have questions about anything." She walked down the stone path, accompanied by Jane, and got into her convertible.

"It's a good thing Punch can't see this," Jane murmured, patting the shiny green sides admiringly. "He'd want one for himself."

Dr. Camlyn laughed. "My father insisted on buying her for me when I graduated from medical school. I think he was hoping to use it as a bribe to keep me in the city, but nothing could stop me from becoming a country doctor … it's all I've ever dreamed of. So," caressing the steering wheel, "Jellia and I moved to P.E.I."

"Jellia?"

"Didn't you ever read the Oz books, Jane? I still do, every chance I get." Smiling, she started the engine. "By the way … now that we're colleagues of a sort, why don't you call me Cam? I know so few people here, and everyone calls me 'doctor' until I feel ancient."

"Cam Camlyn?" Jane raised an eyebrow. "Your parents had a funny sense of humor."

Dr. Camlyn … Cam … laughed. "'Cam' is from my last name. My first name is Ophelia." She grimaced. "Mum adored Shakespeare. Why she couldn't have named me 'Juliet' or 'Miranda' or even 'Hero,' I'll never know. But no, she had to call me Ophelia, after the girl who goes mad and drowns herself."

Jane couldn't help laughing at Cam's resigned tone. "I can see why you prefer Cam."

"Nobody's called me Ophelia … except my parents … since grade school. Honestly, do I look like an Ophelia?"

"Not a bit," Jane answered.

"Thank goodness! Your name suits _you_, Jane Stuart. Sensible, down to earth, honest, unpretentious … at least your parents showed some sense in naming you."

"You wouldn't have thought so a few years ago," Jane said. "Back then everyone called me after my grandmother … Victoria."

Cam shuddered. "It's better than Ophelia … but it's not _you_."

"Exactly."

Cam shook her head. "Well, I've wasted far too much time maundering on about my pathetic name. Goodbye, Jane."

"Goodbye, Cam."

'Jellia' whirred away, and Jane walked back into the house to begin the unenviable task of taking care of Aunt Irene.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **Jellia Jamb first appeared in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz known only as the 'Green girl,' and was given a name and listed as Ozma's favorite servant in later stories.  
_


	26. Chapter 26

For the first couple of weeks, the physical difficulties of Jane's task outweighed the emotional ones. Aunt Irene was barely conscious most of the time, and when she was awake was too weak to do anything but meekly obey Jane's commands. Jane found herself irrationally softening to her aunt, much as one would feel toward a vicious animal now lying helpless. It was hard to remember all the ways Aunt Irene had always irritated her when her every moment was spent fighting to save her aunt's life.

For Jane did save Irene Fraser's life. Dr. Camlyn said as much to Jane, Andrew and Robin, and anyone else who would listen. Cam herself was at Lantern Hill as much as possible, but it was Jane who clenched her fists and refused to let the Reaper take his due. Nobody but Cam ever knew how many nights Jane stayed awake, watching by her aunt's bedside, alert for the tiniest movement that would signal a need. She patiently spoon-fed smooth milky broths, drop by drop, into Aunt Irene's mouth … she turned Aunt Irene every hour punctually to avoid bedsores … she spent hours brushing her aunt's hair to soothe her restless, feverish brain into a calm sleep … she pinned the list of medicine and instructions by Aunt Irene's headboard and followed it diligently.

Andrew and Robin, resting at the Fords' delightful summer house, knew nothing of Jane's trials. She was unfailingly cheerful in her daily bulletins, and assured them both that everything was fine.

Jane really didn't regret her time spent with Aunt Irene, though the summer was a perfect one, and under normal circumstances she would have been outdoors every day, queening it with her little troupe of friends. Jody came to the backdoor every day for news, and to deliver some delicate little treat "for the invalid" from Miss Violet, and questions regarding Miss Justina's impending nuptials.

As excited as Jane had been about the wedding, she found that even details such as the compromise between Miss Violet and Miss Justina on the wedding dress (Jody had convinced them that cream was a better choice than white or grey), or the flowers, or Jody's bridesmaid's dress, or even the house Step-a-yard had almost finished, paled when she recalled the silent, suffering woman upstairs.

Punch and Ding-Dong were disgusted with Jane's new role as nurse. They had been waiting all year for her to come back, and now she barely even stepped outside to wave to them. Min was disappointed, too, but she and Polly stuck loyally by Jane.

"It's only right," Min insisted, "that Jane take care of her aunt. How would you like it, Ding-Dong Bell, if _you_ were sick, and nobody took care of _you_, because they wanted to enjoy themselves? It's lucky Jane's not as selfish as you boys!"

Ding-Dong was chastened but not convinced.

So Jane worked and suffered with and for Aunt Irene, all through that lovely June, until finally the day came when Cam looked at her across Aunt Irene's bed and said,

"I think we've won this one, Jane."

Jane breathed out an enormous sigh of relief. She hadn't dared admit even to herself how afraid she had been that they would lose Aunt Irene. For just a moment, her legs wobbled treacherously underneath her, but she steadied herself with an unobtrusive hand to the nightstand.

"What do we do now?" she asked practically.

Cam's lips quirked in a secret smile. "The first thing you do, Jane Stuart, is go to bed yourself. You're worn practically to the bone, girl. I don't want another patient on my hands, nor do I want to report to Mrs. Stuart how I let her daughter become so exhausted. To bed, and do not rise for at least eight hours."

Jane really was quite tired, so she meekly obeyed and took herself off. Her last waking thought, as she tumbled into her smooth bed, was how glad she was that Aunt Irene was going to survive, and how surprised she was to be glad.

"I must not be as wicked as I thought," she reflected sleepily. "I always thought I hated her … but you can't hate someone when you're so thoroughly happy they're still alive. I am glad … I don't like feeling like I hate anyone … even Aunt Irene."


	27. Chapter 27

If Jane thought the difficult part of her nursing job was over when Aunt Irene turned the corner, she soon discovered how mistaken she had been. A silent, suffering Aunt Irene was much easier to tend than the voluble, irritable Aunt Irene that Jane soon found on her hands.

Nothing Jane did was right … if she brought tea, it was too cold … the next cup too hot. The pillows were too fluffy … Aunt Irene was being smothered … then they were too flat, and _did_ Jane think sleeping with one's head on a board was comfortable? The room was too stuffy if the windows were closed, too cold if opened. The toast was always either burnt or not done enough … and on and on it went. All complaints were delivered in a plaintive, pathetic tone, making Jane feel like a brute for wanting to wring her aunt's neck.

The worst was when Cam would come in for check-ups. Aunt Irene obviously disapproved of women doctors, and she questioned every one of Cam's directives in a soft voice, as though she couldn't _really_ believe the doctor had just prescribed that. Jane, who was still overtired and overworked, felt sometimes that she could fling her aunt out of the house and send her back to town to plague her own doctor, rather than listen to her needle Cam.

Cam was quite used to prejudice and disapproval, and took it all with a patient smile (which, if it had hidden amusement at its corners, Aunt Irene never noticed). "Don't worry, Jane," she laughed downstairs, out of Aunt Irene's earshot. "If she's feeling well enough to criticize me and question you, she'll soon be on her feet. Then your parents will come home, and Lantern Hill will be yours again."

Loyalty to dad prevented Jane from uttering the hearty "thank goodness" she felt, but the way her eyes lit conveyed that thought plainly to the doctor.

"Jane," wafted a voice from the sickroom, "_Would_ it be possible for you to bring me a glass of water? I _know_ I'm such a bother, and probably that Woman Doctor doesn't approve of water, but _if_ you could bring yourself to indulge your poor dear aunt in this _one_ small area …"

Jane sighed and fixed her lips in a smile. "Coming, Aunt Irene!" she called cheerfully.

Cam shook her head as she let herself out the front door.

Jane brought the water to Aunt Irene and stood by the bed, waiting for her next order. Aunt Irene shuddered as she sipped.

"Oh my, this is _so_ cold … I'm really afraid it might just freeze my stomach."

"I can add some hot water from the kettle, if you like," Jane offered.

Aunt Irene shook her head heroically. "No thank you, Jane. I don't want to burn my tongue on it. I'll just leave it here to settle." She set the glass down on the nightstand. "Dear me," she sighed. "When does that Woman Doctor say I can get up? Sometimes I think if I have to lay in this bed," she wriggled her shoulders uncomfortably, "one more day, I'll never be able to walk again. I don't like to complain, Jane, but I don't think this mattress is very well-made … I wake up every morning aching all over."

"I'm sorry, Aunt Irene," Jane said solicitously. "Would you like a pillow to put beneath your legs? Dr. Camlyn says you should be able to get out of bed and sit up in a few days."

Aunt Irene pursed her lips. "I do wish you would call _my_ doctor, Jane, and get his opinion. I don't like to say anything against your friend, but I am not at all sure she really knows what she is doing. I'm sure I'm fully recovered now. Any reasonable doctor would let me go back to my own home … and then you wouldn't be plagued by me anymore."

Despite her own wish for that very thing, Jane could not hear Cam slandered. "Dr. Camlyn saved your life, Aunt Irene. I'm sure you don't want to undo all her good work by disobeying her now, do you?"

Aunt Irene lay back weakly and waved a limp hand at Jane. "Dear me, Jane, you don't need to get so excited. I didn't mean anything bad against the Woman Doctor. You needn't take everything so _personally_, dear. Just like your mother, sometimes!"

Jane's self-control snapped. Slurs against her nursing she could endure cheerfully. Complaints made against Cam she could battle politely. Untruths about her mother … every human has limits, and Jane had reached hers.

"Aunt Irene," she said bluntly. "Why do you hate my mother so much? You must have known Dad would marry someone someday. Do you just hate her because she wasn't Lillian Morrow?"

Aunt Irene's eyes flew open. "Child, what a thing to say! Of course I don't hate your mother … I've only ever tried to help her. And what _do_ you mean about Lillian Morrow? Of course, she and your father were great sweethearts before your mother came along, but I had nothing to do with that. Your father was always free to choose his own wife." Despite herself, a spiteful note entered her voice at that last sentence.

"You do hate Mother … and you hate me," Jane insisted. It wasn't very kind of her to speak so to an ill woman, but she _was_ very tired and worn-out. "You never speak of or to either of us without saying something nasty … disguised as sweetness. You never wanted to help Mother, you just wanted to come between her and Dad. Just like you are always trying to stir up trouble between them now … and just like you tried to make Dad love me less when I first came here."

Aunt Irene started to cry. "Oh Jane, what makes you say such horrid things to me! How can you think that?"

Jane's warm heart smote her at the sight of those tears. She _might_ have been kinder to her poor sick aunt. "I'm sorry, Aunt Irene," she said, patting her aunt's hand in real distress. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm just a little tired, I guess. Please, forget I said it."

But Aunt Irene wasn't ready to let it drop. "After all I've done, and tried to do for you … I've always known you've resented me, just like your mother. No matter how hard I tried to help, she wished I would just go away … me, who practically raised your father! That's the way it always goes, though … as soon as a pretty little thing steals a man's heart, he forgets those who have sacrificed and slaved for him."

"Dad's always loved you," Jane protested. "Sometimes I think he loves you more than anyone!"

Aunt Irene shook her head. "Oh no, no he doesn't. First it was your mother who replaced me … and then, after she left and broke his heart, just as I knew she would, I thought he'd come back. But he stayed distant, and cold. I thought that eventually he'd forget her … and then you came along, and I knew I'd lost him all over again! You and he were such _chums_ … you didn't leave any room for me."

Jane sat down on the side of the bed … gently, so as not to disturb the distraught woman. So that was why Aunt Irene always tried to come between her and Dad … and Dad and Mother. She was jealous! She had gone from being everything to her brother … sister, confidante, mother, friend … to having to take second place, first to Robin and then to Jane, and now to both of them (and even the new baby).

Unexpectedly, Jane found sympathy stirring in her heart for Aunt Irene. Of course, she shouldn't treat Mother so badly, no matter how jealous she was, but at least Jane could understand _why_. It wasn't just spite.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Aunt Irene," she said slowly, trying to find a balance between honesty and kindness. "Sometimes we … Mother and I … felt like you were trying to take Dad from us, and so maybe we did exclude you more than we should have."

Aunt Irene sniffed.

"I know Dad does love you, though," Jane said. She wondered if one of the reasons Dad always praised Aunt Irene so over-emphatically was to make her realize just how much he _did_ still care. "Just because he loves us, too, doesn't mean he loves you any less."

She looked down at her aunt with clear, guileless eyes. "I haven't always been very nice to you, because I thought you were trying to push me away from Dad and make me look like a fool to him … and I thought you were doing the same thing with Mother. Will you forgive me?"

Aunt Irene hesitated. Covering her feelings as she habitually did with sweet insincerities, she wasn't quite sure how to respond to this frank apology. For a moment, patronizing words hovered on her lips. Then, as she kept looking at Jane's face, she suddenly smiled the first real smile her niece had ever seen from her. "Of course, lovey," she said, and laid her head back on the pillow, exhausted.

For once, Jane didn't mind the adjective. She patted her aunt's hand. "I'll leave you to get some rest," she said.

"Jane," Aunt Irene called querulously as that girl was almost at the door, "_Would_ it be too much for you to remember to close the window when you leave? I'm sure one of the reasons it's taking me so long to recover is because I'm half-frozen most of the time."

Jane smiled and shut the window. "Of course, Aunt Irene. I'll try to remember from now on."

Aunt Irene half-opened her eyes. "Thank you, dearie."

Jane closed the door softly behind her and tiptoed down the stairs. She absent-mindedly went into Dad's study and plopped down in his big leather chair, staring vaguely at the china cat on his desk. What was she to do about Aunt Irene's unexpected revelation? Should she tell Mother that Aunt Irene wasn't really so bad, that she was just jealous and … perhaps … just a little pathetic?

No, Jane decided. As evidenced by Aunt Irene's parting words upstairs, one moment of revelation wasn't enough to change a relationship that had so much history behind it. Aunt Irene would still be just as irritating toward Mother as ever once things were back to normal, and if Mother knew the underlying root, she would only feel guilty.

That wouldn't help anyone.

No, it was up to Jane to help smooth things over … protect Mother as much as possible from Aunt Irene's smooth stings, but still be sympathetic toward Aunt Irene herself, not take everything so personally.

Dad would be happy, anyway, if Jane started behaving better toward her aunt. He always wanted the three of them to get along, and never could understand why they didn't.

_Poor old Dad … he'll just never really understand women._ Even at her young age, Jane knew the best way to make women hate each other was to try to force them to be friends.

Still, she determined, she _would_ try to be friends with Aunt Irene from now on … even if it killed her.


	28. Chapter 28

The next day, Aunt Irene seemed to regret her moment of openness with Jane. She was sleeker and smoother than ever, purring and hissing at turns, testing Jane's vow to be friends right from the start. Still, Jane had inherited all the Stuart stubbornness and Kennedy will, and refused to give up. No matter what Aunt Irene said or did, she smiled, nodded, and went about her business. She didn't necessarily condone the ill woman's peevishness, but she didn't respond with her former exasperation.

By the next day, Aunt Irene had smoothed out somewhat, and when Cam announced at the end of the week that she was well enough to go home, aunt and niece had reached an unspoken understanding. Aunt Irene was attempting to be slightly less patronizing, and Jane was making much more of an attempt to make her feel a welcome part of the family.

Still, they were both heartily relieved at Cam's pronouncement.

"I'll call Dad," Jane said. "He and Mother will want to come back, now that it's perfectly safe for Mother, and Dad will want to make sure you're settled back home."

"_Dear_ Andrew," Aunt Irene murmured.

Accordingly, Mother and Dad came home that very evening, and Jane had her reward for her patience in both Mother's glowing health, and Dad's proud thankfulness of the task she had accomplished.

"Don't forget, Aunt Irene," Jane called as Dad tucked her into the car with many blankets. "As soon as you feel up to driving again, you promised to come out to dinner."

Aunt Irene waved feebly at her. "I'll bring one of my chocolate peppermint cakes for dessert," she promised.

Jane swallowed the automatic answer that rose to her tongue … that _she_ was quite capable of making dessert … and smiled. "That will be lovely. Goodbye! Take care of yourself!"

They drove off, and Mother put her arm around Jane's shoulders. "You're a noble soul, my Jane. How did you survive this time?"

Jane hugged Mother in response. "Aunt Irene's not so bad … when she's sick," she said mischievously. "We actually managed to swim along together fairly neatly. But oh, Mummy! How glad I am to have you and Dad and Lantern Hill all back again!"

"You've been working too hard, my Jane," Mother said. "I don't like the look of those pale cheeks on my brown, rosy Jane! You must rest for a little while … leave the housekeeping to me."

Jane started to protest, but then she saw the glimmer of excitement in Mother's eyes. Newly wise from her experience with Aunt Irene, Jane wondered now if Mother didn't sometimes miss all the fun of running her house … Jane did so much of the work. She'd always thought Mother _liked_ being free to spend her days idly, just helping out here and there, when she felt like it. Now, though, she thought that perhaps Mother missed being in charge … making decisions … being free to make her own mistakes, without Jane there to tidy things up after her.

"All right, Mother," she said. "I'll be as lazy as can be for this next week. I'll swim and roam the fields with Jody … I'll read in the sun … I'll even try my hand at sewing myself something, though I'm so bad at that type of work. Just … oh Mummy … don't ban me from my garden! Every time I've looked at it, while I was trapped inside with Aunt Irene, I felt so sad about leaving it to the weeds. I promised myself I would get it back to its usual self."

"Don't worry, Jane," Mother laughed. "The garden is all yours. Just as long as you're outside and enjoying yourself!"

It _was_ nice, Jane had to admit, to feel free again. She took Mother wholly at her word and ran down to the sea right then. She drew in a deep breath, inhaling the delicious briny smell into her very soul. _This_ was what she loved about Prince Edward Island … this magical, mystical, unnamable charm that made it different from anywhere else, all bound up in the scent of the sea.

She turned around and saw Lantern Hill winking at her, smiling in a delicious fashion. She thought that perhaps the house was glad, too, to have Aunt Irene gone. As much as Aunt Irene criticized Jane she criticized the house … and didn't always bother to cover up her criticisms with false compliments, as she did with people. Jane knew that houses hurt when they were snubbed, and Lantern Hill had had its chief snubber in it for weeks.

"Jane!"

Jane turned to see Jody flying down the sand-dunes, her black hair wafting out behind her in the breeze. Jane marveled, as usual, over Jody's elfin beauty. Even Aunt Irene had had to admit at the beginning of the summer that Jody Turner, once the homeliest, unhappiest orphan in Toronto, was the beauty of Queen's Harbour (though Aunt Irene, when admitting that, had managed to insinuate that it was _such_ a pity people couldn't say the same about Jane).

Jane waved happily and waited for Jody to reach her.

"Oh Jane," Jody said, skidding to a panting stop in the damp sand. "I was just at your place and your mother told me you were down here and your aunt was gone … oh Jane, I'm so glad you're free now! Aunt Justina's in an awful state the closer her wedding day comes, and I'm so afraid she'll jilt Step-a-yard at the altar after all … oh Jane, you will help me calm her down, won't you? And Aunt Violet's starting to think about how lonely she'll be when Aunt Justina leaves, even though the new house is right next door and she'll still have _me_, but she said they wanted to send me to college and she won't hold me here, but I don't _want_ to leave her all alone just for college …"

"I thought Miss Violet and Miss Justina didn't believe in higher education for women?" Jane said curiously.

Jody shrugged. "They said that while it was not considered necessary in their youth for women to study such matters, they have come to understand, now that they have studied the matter more thoroughly (since they took me in, of course), that it is important for both women and men to have many options. And I think that Dr. Camlyn who took such good care of Mrs. Fraser helped change their minds about careers for women … if _you_ liked her, Jane, and trusted her with your aunt, she must be all right."

"Cam is wonderful," Jane said enthusiastically. "And of course I'll help both Miss Justina and Miss Violet … oh Jody, it's wonderful to be really back!" She looked out at the sea once more, past the bar, where the setting sun was striping the water orange and pink and purple, a constantly changing masterpiece that rippled and flowed. "Jody, we should have a midnight picnic down here some night. Wouldn't that be fun? Just the girls: you and me and Min and Polly. We'll keep it secret from the boys, or they'll want to come, and it'll be more fun if it's just us."

"It sounds lovely," Jody said a little doubtfully. "But I don't think the Aunts will let me go out at midnight."

"You can spend the night with me," Jane said. "Then we can slip out and meet Min and Polly down here. Just imagine the harbour with the moon shining off the waters, and the stars shining overhead! We can build a small driftwood fire and sit and talk and _dream_."

"All right," Jody said, building up some excitement for the plan. "When shall we do it?"

"Two nights from now," Jane said decidedly. "You can ask the Aunts tomorrow if you can sleep at Lantern Hill, and I'll let Min and Polly know."

Jody agreed, and the two parted, Jody to return home to the Aunts, reporting to them that Irene Fraser was home again and Jane looked just fine, and Jane to go back to Lantern Hill, where Mother and Dad and Happy and Bubbles were waiting with stories about the Fords … and no Aunt Irene!

Jane sighed happily. Life was grand.


	29. Chapter 29

The girls did have their midnight picnic—spoiled somewhat by the fact that the boys found out about it and barged in halfway through. The other girls were less bothered by this than Jane was, leading her to suspect that they were starting to discover that mysterious fascination members of the opposite gender hold for each other. In fact, certain hints dropped by Min caused her to believe that the boys' discovery of their picnic wasn't _quite_ the coincidence one might have expected.

Jane sighed. After her experience with Colby, she had no interest in the April love of boys and girls. She would just as soon wait until she was old enough to _really_ care about someone before falling in love. These silly infatuations just ended in one or the other party getting hurt.

Watching Min and Polly giggle, and the boys preen themselves, she couldn't help but feel distant from these friends, the friends of her youth. Though Jane couldn't articulate what separated them, the truth was that the long, lonely weeks of vigil by Aunt Irene's sickbed, her struggle against death, had matured and shaped her into more of a woman.

Out of all her friends, only Jody, whose life had been so bleak and hard before the Island, could understand a little of Jane's feelings. She too was supremely indifferent to the flirtations going on around her. Though she was undoubtedly the prettiest girl in Lantern Corners, she cared very little for her looks.

"I wish I was tall and slim, with rippling golden hair and eyes like blueberries, and a rosebud mouth, like princesses in fairy tales," she confided wistfully to Jane as they sat a little ways away from the others, watching the waves roll into shore under the moon. "I want a fairy-tale romance … someday. Not right now, and not for a while. I'm too happy just _living_. But someday … someday I want a Prince Charming to come sweep me off my feet. Not some kind of half-romance that dies before it even gets started."

"I prefer to keep both my feet firmly on the ground, when I fall in love," said Practical Jane. "I want there to be respect, and friendship, and just enough romance to keep things interesting. In about ten years or so."

Polly's high-pitched, artificial-sounding giggle floated down to them, and both girls sighed.

Thankfully, none of the elders ever found out about the midnight picnic, though parents surely had their suspicions when all the youngsters were heavy-eyed and groggy the next day. By then, however, excitement over Miss Justina's wedding to Step-a-yard was riding high, and children and adults alike were lured into it. Jane and Jody had to spend one afternoon calming Miss Justina down; she had become convinced that she was committing a dreadful sin by breaking her vow to always stay faithful to the memory of her dead lover.

"I swore I'd never marry any man but him," she sniffed, holding a delicate lace handkerchief to her eyes. "It's very wrong to break a solemn vow, girls, the minister said so. It's in the Holy Scriptures."

"But Aunt Justina," Jody pleaded, "If the minister thought you were doing something wrong, he wouldn't have agreed to perform the ceremony, would he?"

"Maybe he doesn't know that it was a _vow_. He probably thinks it was just a whim. But I swore, I really did!"

"Think of how sad it would make Alec Jacks to know you were throwing away your happiness for him," Jane said, taking Miss Justina's thin, withered hand in her own. "When you made that vow, what you were really doing was vowing to be faithful to his memory. And you will be, still … you'll never forget him, even if you marry Step-a-yard. Remembering him doesn't mean never moving ahead with your life. I'm sure he wouldn't have wanted that at all."

"Do you really think so?"

"I do," Jane said firmly, and Jody nodded vigorously in agreement.

"Well, when you put it like _that_ … if you think I'm still holding true to the _spirit_ of the vow …"

"All this fuss over a dead lover," Miss Violet sniffed, entering the parlor. "You ought to be more worried about your living sister, whom you are leaving all alone for someone who has never made anything more of himself than a hired man!"

Miss Justina rose to her feet with awful dignity. "Sister, I cannot sit here and let you insult my fiancé," she said coldly. "Allow me to leave."

With that, she swept majestically out of the room, leaving Jane torn between exasperation and amusement. They had overcome one stumbling block … now they had to placate Miss Violet. Really, why couldn't people just let themselves be happy once in a while!

"You won't be all alone, Auntie," Jody protested. "I'll still be here,"

"You are a great comfort, child, but I would not dream of holding you back from a career. You must go on and further your education, and then I truly will be alone."

"Miss Justina and Step-a-yard will be right next door," Jane soothed. "It will be just like having them here, except you'll be free to do things your way now. You could keep the rubber plant in the back hall all the time …"

"You can open the windows at night …" Jody chimed in.

"You can take as much cream as you want with tea without anyone complaining …"

Miss Violet was silent for a moment. Then she said, "No doubt it will be very pleasant to be able to have things as I like, but, but," her eyes filled with tears, "it sounds dreadfully _boring_."

Miss Justina had returned, unseen by any of them. "Oh sister!" she cried, rushing over and putting her arms around Miss Violet. "I promise, I will come by every day. After all, when my husband" (this said with a maidenly blush) "is working, I will be alone too. I will come over, and we will knit, and everything will be just like it used to be."

"Besides," Jody added, "I don't care about a career, really I don't. I've never been so happy in all my life as I have been here. I don't want to leave you, ever."

With that, all three burst into tears and hugged each other, and Jane slipped out, knowing everything would be just fine.

And none too soon, either! The wedding was scheduled for tomorrow. Jane hoped they could get through it without any more crises … and hopefully with less tears. She wouldn't count on that last part, though.

She enjoyed the walk home with the sun shining comfortingly on her bare head; her feet, free from the restraints of shoes, scuffed through the dust of the road pleasantly. She was humming a little song to herself, not really thinking about anything or anyone in particular, when she heard her name called.

"Jane! Jane Stuart!"

Jane focused her gaze down the road. Someone … no, several someones … were running toward her, calling her name. They didn't look like any of her Lantern Corners friends, but who …?

Then the loudest broke free from the pack and Jane recognized her with surprise. "Eden!"

Eden Westin dashed the last few steps and drew to a stop before Jane, gasping and panting for breath. "Gosh, it's hot," were the first words she uttered. "It's a lousy day for running."

"What are you doing here?" Jane asked, flinging her arms around her friend.

Eden grinned and proceeded to tell as the rest of the family tumbled up behind her. "You've talked so much about this wonderful Island of yours that we convinced Mother and Father to take our summer vacation here. We're not staying at Lantern Corners, of course, but our guest house is only a few miles away."

"We can come see you every day!" Tracy shouted boisterously. He turned a somersault in the middle of the road and came up grinning. "Aren't you glad?"

"Delighted," Jane said frankly. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Colby hadn't run with his younger siblings, but he strolled to the group now, looking far more cool and composed than his breathless sister. "Eden thought it would be more fun to surprise you."

Jane ran her eyes over the group. Eden, Colby, Tracy, Marilyn, and Edwin. "Where's Abbie?"

Eden and Colby rolled their eyes in unison. "Back at the guest house," Eden said. "She's the only one who didn't want to come. She said she's far too _old_ to come _play_ with us."

"She didn't want to come _at all_," Colby emphasized. "She wanted to go to someplace more glamorous, where she could see cinema stars, or at least rich boys who might take a fancy to her. She wanted to go to the south of France, and when Mother and Father said that was far too expensive, pouted the entire way here."

"Poor Abbie," Jane laughed. "We've no rich young men around here, but there is plenty to do, if one wants."

"We were just at your house," Tracy informed her. "Say, it's swell, Jane. I like it even better than your house in Toronto."

"Your parents told us we could find you down this way," Eden filled in. "They said you were helping someone plan a wedding?"

Jane explained about Miss Justina and Step-a-yard. The Toronto youngsters didn't find this October romance anywhere near as interesting as Jane herself did, but Colby did grin.

"And Abbie thought there would be no romance here."

"You may come to the wedding tomorrow, if you like," Jane offered. "We don't bother with things like invitations here. Everyone who wants to celebrate just comes."

"But we don't even know them," Eden said. "And we don't have a gift for them."

"You are friends of mine," Jane said with an airy wave of her hand. "That makes you welcome anywhere." She realized how boastful her words sounded and hastened to explain. "I mean … it's such a small community, that friends of anyone's are always welcome anywhere. And you don't have to worry about a gift. We girls are decorating the church tomorrow morning, and you can help with that, if you want to contribute something. Plus I have to spend the rest of today baking desserts for the reception afterward, and you can help me."

"I'll lick the bowl!" little Edwin piped up.

Jane swooped down and hugged him, wondering once again what it would be like to have a little brother or sister of her own to hug and love. "That will be an enormous help."

Colby scooped Marilyn up and settled her on his shoulders. "We'll all help. After all, what else are friends for?" He winked at Jane.

Jane grinned back, thinking how nice it was that they were here … and that Colby had apparently gotten over his crush on her for good and for all.

It was so much more pleasant to just be friends.


	30. Chapter 30

Miss Justina's wedding day dawned bright and fair. Jane noted the clear blue sky out her bedroom window as she rose before dawn and breathed a silent prayer of gratitude. She threw on her old green-stained overalls … her wedding finery would have to wait for that afternoon … and slipped silently down the stairs and out the door. Running barefoot down the path, she met Jody and Min at the door to the little old church.

"Where's Polly?" Jane asked.

"Late, probably," Min said. "She's _always_ late."

Jane had to agree that punctuality was not Polly's strong suit. "Well, let's get started," she said. She displayed her offerings, freshly picked from her garden. "I brought the poppies and the asters and tiger lilies," she said, not without a sigh. It had hurt to strip her garden of its late-summer glory, even though it was for Miss Justina and Step-a-yard, one of her first Island friends.

Min had no flowers, but Jody had brought plenty from the Titus garden, and the three girls were soon hard at work decorating the wooden pews and simple altar inside the church building.

Jane had left the door open so they could still feel the fresh breeze as they worked, and soon enough they heard Polly's new artificial giggle.

"What on earth …" Jane muttered. She dropped her armful of flowers and ribbon and stepped to the door, there to see Polly mincing down the path next to Colby, with Eden trailing behind and making faces.

"Who is that?" Min demanded beside her.

"My friends Colby and Eden," Jane said.

"He's handsome," Min said. She scowled. "Trust Polly to leave us to do all the work _and_ catch the handsome fellow!"

Jane winced. She didn't want Colby herself, but to hear him described as a "catch," as though he were nothing more than a prize trout, set her teeth on edge. She decided to ignore both Min and Polly as best she could. She waved cheerfully.

"You decided to come help after all!" she called.

Eden ran past her brother and Polly. "Yep. Colby's no good with flowers, but Mum and Dad didn't want me going off by myself, so he walked with me. Say," as she stepped inside, "this is a swell place! I just love old wooden churches, they feel so homey and sweet."

Jane smiled at her friend. "I know just what you mean. Hello Colby, hello Polly," she said as the other two finally made it to the door.

Colby promptly handed her a basket. "These are Miss … er … Polly's flowers," he said. His blue eyes had a mutinous look to them.

"Wasn't it sweet of Colby to carry them for me?" Polly crooned.

"Hardly," Eden said bluntly. "It would have been rude to make you carry them. If anyone is sweet, it's our Mum, for installing good manners in him."

Polly glared at Eden, who smiled back sweetly.

"Eden will be fine here with us, if you want to leave," Jane told Colby, taking pity on him. "I know decorations aren't your _forte_."

Colby's eyes had wandered around the dim church interior, however, and landed on Jody, who, with her dark hair and pale skin standing out against her wine-coloured dress as she fussed with a recalcitrant spray of flowers, looked even more beautiful than usual. "Thanks," he said slowly. "But I'll stay and help, since I'm already here."

Jane followed the direction of his gaze, and her own eyebrows went up. Colby … and _Jody_? She never would have imagined the two of them together, but thinking about it, she could see it working very well. They were both quiet and serious, deep thinkers with an unexpected strain of fun.

She grinned. "Sure," she said. "As long as you're here, would you mind giving Jody a hand? I think she's having some trouble."

Colby crossed the foyer with alacrity, bending his head close to Jody's to ask her what he could do. Jody turned her eyes up to smile gratefully at him, and an unexpected blush rose in her cheeks, making her prettier than ever.

Yes, Jane mused, they would do _very_ well, indeed.

"Come on, Jane," Eden said, dancing impatiently at her elbow. "What can I do?"

Jane came back to her duties, and very shortly the six of them had the church looking perfectly charming for the bride and groom. Eden was very artistic … drawing and sculpting were some of the only things that could ever make her sit still for longer than five minutes at a time … and under her direction the rest had transformed the old building into a blaze of late-summer beauty.

Jane glanced at her wristwatch. "Goodness, not a moment too soon. We have to hurry and get ourselves ready." She grinned at Jody. "Do you remember your duties?"

Jody was Miss Justina's bridesmaid. Miss Justina had asked Miss Violet to perform the role first, but Miss Violet sniffed and said that at her age, it was just an insult to be a bridesmaid. Miss Justina started to take offence, but thankfully they remembered dear Jody, and decided she was a much better choice overall.

Step-a-yard's younger brother, a hired boy at the King farm over in Carlisle, was standing up as his best man, though Step-a-yard confessed gloomily to Jane that's he'd rather have had almost anyone else, since his brother had never managed to attend any important event without making a mess of it.

"I dunno why King keeps him on … he's awful lazy and forgetful, and can't walk in a straight line 'thout tripping over his own feet, an' I hear that every once in a while King blows up at him and threatens to fire him, but then by the end of the day they're best chums again. Everyone knows Dan King's got the wickedest temper in the world but the kindest heart … they say he was headed for ruin when his little sister died an' it set him straight for life."

"I remember," Jody said now. "Look serious walking down the aisle, though I can smile on the way back. Hold Aunt Justina's bouquet and give it back when the ceremony is over. And, most importantly, keep her and Aunt Violet from arguing beforehand, and keep her from changing her mind."

Jane nodded. "Colby, Eden, will we see you back here for the wedding? One hour."

"We'll be here," Eden said cheerfully, nudging Colby in the ribs. "Right?"

"Sure," he said laconically.

The small fry raced away to their respective homes, and it wasn't long before Jane was standing in front of the mirror at Lantern Hill, hoping her emerald crepe frock wasn't too citified for a small country wedding.

"Do I look too fancy, Mummy?" she asked Robin anxiously.

Robin wasn't able to attend the wedding; she had a headache and swollen ankles and begged off. She looked at Jane from her position on the couch … saw the hidden red tints in Jane's hair brought out by the green dress … the laughter lurking in her eyes … her strong chin and smiling mouth … the smart belted dress that flared so fashionably above her ankles. She sighed.

"You look perfect, darling."

Jane kissed her. "Thank you, Mummy. I'll take your love to everyone."

"Tell Miss Justina I'll be sure to visit her once the days start cooling down!" Robin said. She scowled blackly at her lumpy ankles.

"I will!" Jane snatched her dashing new summer hat off the side table and ran blithely down the path, a mix of child and woman to make any parent proud.

Robin rested her hand on her rounded stomach. "I can hope for nothing better for you than you grow up to be just like your big sister," she whispered.


	31. Chapter 31

The wedding went off without a hitch. Miss Justina, despite her age, made a beautiful bride; Step-a-yard's brother did not make any horrendous mistakes; Jody was a perfect bridesmaid; even Miss Violet did not spoil anything by arguing. After it was all over and the bride and groom off on their honeymoon, Jane took Miss Violet back to Lantern Hill, so that she wouldn't have to spend her first evening without her sister all alone. Mother had suggested it … dear Mother!

Jane would have brought Jody as well, but that Colby and Eden offered to show her their guest house and let her meet the rest of the family instead. By now even Eden had noticed Colby's interest in Jody, but to Jane's surprise, she seemed to approve.

"I like her," she whispered loudly to Jane as she helped her take down decorations after the ceremony.

"So do I," Jane laughed back. "She's my very dearest friend."

Even then, no jealousy flashed through Eden's dark eyes. She just nodded. "I hope for a while that Colby would fall for you," she said with devastating frankness, unaware of Jane's sudden discomfort, "Because I would have liked you for a sister. But I like Jody, too … though not as much as I would have liked you as a sister. I don't suppose you'd wait for Tracy to grow up?"

Jane's peals of laughter could be heard even outside.

"But Eden, they're still young," she said, tacitly acknowledging Colby and Jody's mutual attraction. "There's no guarantee they'll end up … getting married or anything." She couldn't even imagine Jody old enough to be married.

Eden shrugged. "Well, but you know Colby. He doesn't flirt, or like people at all, usually. If he likes Jody, it's serious."

Jane hoped the sudden flush in her cheeks would be covered by the fact that she was bending over to put ribbon in a basket. She devoutly prayed that Eden would never find out about Colby's aborted interest in _her_.

"That's the last of it," she said, changing the subject. "Have a good time with Jody."

Eden waved, already on her way out the door.

Miss Violet was inclined to be a little melancholy all through supper, but Mother's kind words and Dad's good humour soon cheered her. Jane was feeling a little melancholy herself … there was always a letdown after an anticipated event, and she had worked very hard to make it perfect, and was consequently quite tired. She hadn't yet fully recovered from the long, hard, gruelling task of nursing Aunt Irene back to health, either.

Perhaps Mother and Dad realized this, for they sent her out to the shore after supper, while they entertained Miss Violet. Normally Jane would have resented (at least a little) being sent away like a _child_ while the adults talked … but this evening she was glad.

She strolled along the water's edge for a while, thinking of many things in an aimless fashion … what it would be like to get married … whether she would have a baby brother or baby sister in a few months … if she ought to cut her hair or leave it long … what language she might take in the fall at school … if Jody and Colby's brand-new interest in each other would actually last, or if Jody too would fall prey to "April love."

"Oh, me!" she sighed to the sky. "Will I be the last of our little group to remain fancy-free?"

"Talking to yourself, Jane Stuart?"

A smile came readily to Jane's mobile mouth at the familiar voice and figure walking toward her from the rocks up ahead. "Hullo, Cam."

"And how was the wedding?" Cam asked gravely. "I wanted to come, but alas! I was assisting at a birth instead."

"Oh, who?" Jane asked, interested at once.

"A poor fisherwoman with six other children all wailing in one corner while their mother screamed in pain on the lone bed and the father snored over an empty whiskey bottle in the other corner," Cam answered harshly, one corner of her mouth twisting up. Seeing Jane look stricken, she apologized. "I'm sorry, Jane. It's just … it is so frustrating, knowing the poor quality of life those people have, and not being able to do anything to help."

Jane knew something about wanting to fix the ills of the world and being unable to do so. "At least you helped a little, by assisting at the birth." She knew perfectly well that Cam would have accepted no payment for something like that, choosing to help simply because she was able.

Cam's eyes brightened. "Yes, and a beautiful baby girl it was, too! No matter what the circumstances, it's always magical to see new life come into the world. That first moment, handing the baby to his or her mother … oh Jane, it's why I became a doctor in the first place."

"I wish I had something like that," Jane said, unusually wistful. "There's nothing really that grabs me … nothing that I know I want to do, or be, when I'm grown."

Cam smiled understandingly. "It'll come to you, never fret. And whatever you do, you will put your whole heart into it, and you will do it well and love it, because that is who you are."

Jane smiled gratefully at her friend. "Thank you."

Cam inclined her head. "Now," she said merrily, looping her arm through Jane's and beginning to walk again, "Tell me about the wedding!"

And so Jane did, feeling better already. Cam laughed until tears ran down her cheeks when Jane told her about Step-a-yard kissing Miss Justina's cheek instead of her mouth (anything else just seeming "improper, like"); smiled merrily at the tale of Eden sniffing noisily throughout the entire ceremony (and then denying being emotional _at all_ later); and looked gravely pleased upon hearing of the newlyweds riding off in Step-a-yard's new coupe, Miss Justina tossing her bouquet and looking like a young girl again despite her wrinkles and grey hair, and Step-a-yard himself looking like a man who has, after years of reaching, finally caught the moon.

"Who caught the bouquet?" she asked.

Jane smiled demurely. "I did … but I don't think anyone saw me, and I kind of threw it at Jody as soon as it touched my hands, so everybody thought _she_ caught it."

Cam laughed. "In no hurry to get married, are you, Jane?"

"No," Jane said emphatically. "I'm far too young. And even if I weren't, I don't want to get married for a long, long time. Life's far too …" She searched for just the right word, and found it. "Too _satisfying_ right now, just as it is."

Cam nodded. "I agree with you entirely."


	32. Chapter 32

It seemed to Jane that she no more than blinked, and a fortnight passed. The Westins returned to Toronto, and Jody … a new, shy, strange Jody … came over to Lantern Hill to talk about Colby.

"He's _awfully_ nice, Jane," she said earnestly, blushing a little. "And his family is, too. None of them seemed to mind my background at all."

"Of course they wouldn't!" said Jane, absently indignant. "_You_ are what matters, not where or how you were born."

"Well, it matters to some people," Jody said practically.

"So is Colby your …" Jane hesitated. "Your boy-friend?"

"Oh _no_." Jody looked deeply shocked. "Well, actually, yes, I suppose. Only don't tell Aunt Violet, please? She's already upset enough about Aunt Justina leaving her, and if she hears that I've got a boy-friend she'll start thinking that I want to leave, too. And I _don't_, not at all. Colby's just … well, he's nice," she ended lamely, blushing again.

Jody was Jane's age, fourteen (nearly fourteen and a half!), but all at once Jane felt that Jody was years older than she was. It was an odd feeling … ever since her illness, Jane had felt (in a abstract way) far older than most of her friends. It was one reason why she and Cam got along so well … their minds and souls were closer to the same age than Jane's and Polly's, or Min's, anymore.

Now, though … Jody was experiencing something Jane never had, nor had any desire to experience, and Jane felt unpleasantly like a door was shutting in her face … a door that Jody didn't even realize was there.

It was a lonely feeling.

She gave herself a mental shake. It was silly, she silently told herself, to expect that everything would always remain the same. Why … why … that was how Grandmother Kennedy acted! So afraid of losing someone she loved that she refused to share that person at all.

Come to think of it, that was some of Aunt Irene's problem, too.

Jane frowned. Dad had been jealous of _her_ when she was born, because Mother loved her so much. And Mother had been jealous of Dad's writing, and of Jane's new love for Dad and the Island after her first summer.

Did caring about someone make _everybody_ jealous? That didn't seem right … wasn't love supposed to be selfless? Shouldn't people be happy when someone they loved was happy, even if that meant sharing that person?

Jane put the question to Little Aunt Em the very next day, on one of her frequent visits, during which she had learned many useful tips … how to dye rag rugs … how to spin wool into yarn (and very lumpy and uneven Superior Jane's first attempts were, too!) … how to turn a handful of root vegetables and some herbs and cold water into a mouth-watering stew … the right time to plant certain flowers and vegetables. Little Aunt Em was a fount of wisdom, and she was never stingy about sharing it with people she liked.

She cackled at Jane's question. "Well, you'd think so, wouldn't you, Jane Stuart? We're all too selfish, though … even the best of us has a streak of pure selfishness in us. Even you, Jane Stuart. Me, I think it all goes right back to Adam and Eve … we all want to be worshipped, want to be our own little gods, commanding whole-hearted love and adoration. The stories I could tell you about my husbands …! And don't think I was any saint, either, because I was … and still am … just as selfish as they were. I just admit it easier."

Jane's forehead was puckered. "But it still seems _contrary_. Isn't love supposed to make you a better person?"

"Human beings are contrary. If you haven't learned that yet, child, you soon will. I've never met a perfectly consistent person in all my life … 'cept those that are consistently boring. And who likes _them_?"

"Nobody," Jane agreed.

"We've just got to take people as we find 'em, without expecting them to be anything. That's another thing that's easier said than done, Jane."

Jane sighed. "It's very complicated, growing up. Life was simpler when I was still a little child and saw everything in black and white."

Little Aunt Em rocked back and forth in her chair, nodding wisely. "Life _is_ a tangled mess, sometimes … but it's the tangles that make it interesting, Jane Stuart. You remember that."

"Well," Jane said, "Mother and Dad's tangles were interesting enough, but I would have been much happier if they had been boring and smooth!"

"Would you?" Little Aunt Em winked shrewdly. "You would have been happy enough if your parents had stayed together, I'm sure … but would you have been happier than you are now, now that you've known unhappiness?"

Jane considered this. She thought of Eden, who had never known any kind of difficulties or real troubles in her life, and consequently complained about little things which weren't true problems at all.

If Mother and Dad had always lived together, would she, Jane, really appreciate just how beautiful it was to have two parents … together? If she had never lived with Grandmother Kennedy, would she enjoy the freedom to be herself as much as she did now?

Being honest, she had to say no.

"I suppose it all works out in the end," she sighed.

Little Aunt Em nodded. "God knows what He's about, even when we mortals can't make any sense of it." She laughed again. "At least, that's what the preachers say! And most of them have at least a lick or two of sense … though no more than that, seems to me. Why are so many fools attracted to the pulpit, Jane Stuart?"

Jane had no answer for that, but she didn't really think Little Aunt Em wanted one.

Selfishness might be a natural part of human love, Jane decided as she walked home, laden down with gorgeously-coloured yarn she had helped to both spin and dye, but she, at least, would try her hardest to remember this conversation when … if … she ever fell in love. Then, hopefully, she be _less_ selfish about her love.

She would strive for that, at least.

In the meantime, it was a beautiful twilight, the trees were rustling friendly leaves at her as she walked under them, the grass was glorious in all its August gold, and God was never selfish or stinted with His love … just look at how He showered beauty on the earth!

Jane released a deep sigh of contentment. Life was good.


	33. Chapter 33

Soon, Dad started talking about heading back to Toronto, and Lakeside Gardens. Jane and Mother exchanged a glance, and he took notice.

"All right, you two. What are you scheming now?"

"Dad," Jane said, sidling up to him and resting her small hand on his arm, "Wouldn't it be so much nicer if our baby could be born here, on PEI, just like I was?"

"Of course it would be nice, Jane, but we must be practical."

"What's impractical about it?" Jane was not to be dissuaded. She and Mummy had spent a great deal of time working out all the details; now they just needed to convince Dad. "You've stayed here over the winter before, so we know that it's weatherproof. You can keep sending your articles in to the paper, just like you do now. And you know that your poetry always flows better here from Lantern Hill."

"What about the house in Lakeside Gardens?"

"Mrs. Kane will be more than happy to stop by once a week and open up the windows to air them out," Mother intervened.

"Oh, she will, will she? And how do you know?" Dad's brows were starting to scowl, and Jane understood that he disliked the idea that maybe they had been sneaking behind his back to plot this.

"I wrote and asked her," Mother said bravely. "Back when Jane first mentioned the idea. She wanted to go to you at once, but I told her we should wait until we had a firm plan in place, so you wouldn't have the headache of figuring out all the details."

In fact, it had been Jane who suggested waiting, but she appreciated Mother's attempt to take the blame on herself.

Dad's eyebrows smoothed back out, and he laughed. "Oh, you scheming women! I can see I'm quite helpless amidst you. Well then, what about Jane's school?"

"I can go to the Lantern Corners school, of course," Jane said.

"Jane! Be serious."

"I am," Jane protested. "All my friends go there, why not me?"

"I," Dad corrected absently. "Why not I, my Jane. If this is how you treat grammar, I think perhaps you need a better school than a little one-room, one-teacher affair here in the backwoods of PEI …"

"Dad!" Jane exclaimed. "Of course I know the proper grammar, I just didn't stop to think. And I know the school here isn't as good as my school in Toronto, but if it's just until Christmas break, I don't think I'll fall behind too dreadfully. I'll even do extra work outside of school, if it will make you happy."

"Well …" Dad said dubiously. Mother saw that he was weakening and pressed home her final point.

"You know Dr. Camlyn says that Jane quite overworked her strength this summer, taking care of Irene. Not that any of us begrudge her that, naturally, but don't you think she would regain her strength better here than in Toronto?"

Dad looked at Jane, who did her best to look pale and weak. It actually wasn't that difficult; she had been getting tired more easily ever since her bout with Aunt Irene. When Dad looked at her, though, he didn't see a Jane who was just a little wearied and worn from a stressful summer. He saw the little girl he hadn't known for many, many years, and then who had almost died in her need to know he wasn't going to divorce her mother.

"All right, Jane," he said gruffly. "We'll stay."

Jane clapped her hands. "Hurrah! And now Cam can help deliver our baby … I'm sure she's better than any Toronto doctor, anyway."

Everyone, it seemed, was delighted the Stuarts were staying. Jody and the rest of the Lantern Corners crew were nearly beside themselves; Mr. Ford had absolutely no objections to Dad sending his work in from the Island; Cam was pleased to think she'd be able to bring a wanted and loved baby into the world, as opposed to the "unnecessary" (in the words of one fisherman) babies she'd been helping to birth of late.

Aunt Irene positively gushed with her delight.

"Oh, I'm so glad you'll be close by, so I can help if anything … you know …" lowering her voice, "_Goes Wrong_. Although I really do think you ought to get my doctor in from Charlottetown, instead of That Woman Doctor, and really Robin, wouldn't you rather stay with me instead of out here all the way from civilization?"

"Cam has plenty of experience with babies," Jane said cheerfully. "And really, Aunt Irene, after your illness this summer, I'm sure your doctor has plenty of work keeping you healthy. We wouldn't want to interfere with that in any way."

"Yes," said Mother, picking up her cue smoothly, "And that's why we couldn't possibly impose on you to stay with you, either. We would be ashamed of ourselves to ask you to do anything for us, so soon after such a debilitating illness as you had!"

Aunt Irene was torn between protesting that she was fine, and playing up the burden of an invalid, and before she could settle on an invalid willing to endure anything for the sake of her family, Jane had adroitly turned the conversation, and her opportunity was lost.

"Well," she did manage to say, "I will be here every day, after the baby is born, to help. Your poor mother," pathetically, to Jane, "will need plenty of time to recover from the birth … it always takes longer in older women … and bless me, you know nothing about taking care of babies!"

Jane gritted her teeth and smiled. "Thank you, Auntie," she said. "I'll be sure to call you if I have any difficulties. It will be such a comfort to know that you're only a phone call away."

Afterward, when Aunt Irene thought about it, she realized that Jane had, with that comment, managed to change it from Aunt Irene being there every day to help, to only coming out when Jane called her, but at the time she was too busy preening herself to notice.

The only people who seemed unhappy about the decision to stay were the Stuarts' Lakeside Gardens friends.

"Aw, Jane, I wanted to see your little brother or sister as soon as it was born!" Eden wrote. Jane could almost see her disgruntled face and hear the unhappy tone as she read the letter. "All the good things happen there on that darn island of yours. I wish _we_ could move out there, too."

Mrs. Kane wrote that she certainly would miss them, but she would be very happy to tend to the house while they were away. When she heard that they would be home in time for Christmas, she sent another letter, saying that they must come to a Christmas party at her house.

"Nothing too formal or fancy, of course," she wrote. "Just a few friends. It will be a way to welcome you home, and greet the newest addition to your lovely family."

Mother wrote back and said that as long as everyone was fine, they would be sure to come to the party, and thanked her very much.

"Mrs. Kane is such a charming woman," Mother said to Jane later. "It certainly _is_ a pity that someone can't rectify matters between her and Mr. Kendall. He needs a woman in his life to soften him, smooth out his rough edges."

"You are welcome to try, Mummy," Jane laughed. "As for me, I have sworn off matchmaking, especially between those two!"

Jane cup of happiness was nearly completely full now, knowing that she was going to be staying on her beloved Island for another season. She would get to see Lantern Hill through the glorious reds and golds of autumn … pick apples with Jody, Polly, and Min … see the first snowfall, and watch the fields turn white … and best of all, when her little brother or sister was born, he or she would be an Island child.

Just like Jane.


	34. Chapter 34

September and October passed in a slow, beautiful haze of golden days, crimson twilights, and navy nights. Jane thought she'd never seen such a glorious autumn—and she was not far wrong, for no city autumn could ever match the flaming splendour of Prince Edward Island.

Mother did not think of it quite so pleasantly. To her, the two months were filled, not with apples, bonfires, leaves, and pumpkins, but with swollen ankles, an aching back, discomfort no matter how she sat or stood, and a growing fear of giving birth again.

Some of Aunt Irene's insinuations had taken root, and Mother began to fret that she really was too old to have another child.

"What if I've forgotten how?" she confessed to Jane in a rare moment when the two were alone. Jane had come in from a romp through the fields with her friends to find Mother crying in the kitchen, and immediately demanded to know what was wrong.

"It's been so long … I'm not sure I remember what to do."

"I think your body will tell you," Jane said, a little uncertainly. It was not like Superior Jane to be uncertain about anything, but in matters pertaining to childbirth, she freely admitted that she knew nothing.

Mother wiped her eyes with the curtain she had been hemming. "That's what Dr. Camlyn says. But _still_. And oh, Jane, just think of it. When this baby is ten I'll be forty-three. Forty-three! That's ancient … how will I be able to chase after a young child? And when it is sixteen I'll be forty-nine … practically _fifty_. He or she will be _embarrassed_ to have such an old mother."

Jane put a comforting arm around Mother's shoulders. "No sibling of mine will ever be embarrassed to have you as a mother," she said stoutly. "And you will never be old, no matter what the calendar says. Besides, _lots_ of women have children when they are _far_ older than you, and they are all just fine!"

"I know," Mother sniffed. "I know I'm just being foolish, Jane. But oh, I'm just so tired of being pregnant!"

With no other options, Jane jumped up to make a pot of tea, and soon Mother was back to normal … or at least what passed for normal these days.

As much as she was looking forward to having a brother or sister, Jane couldn't help but miss her old, bright, merry mother. She hoped she would return after the baby was born.

Dad was getting nervous, too. Jane found out, just a few days after her talk with mother, that he had taken to "dropping in" on Cam at odd hours, just to quiz her about every possibility regarding the birth. He had even suggested taking Mother to the hospital in Charlottetown to have the baby!

"I told him," Cam said, stretching her long legs out before her as she and Jane sat companionably side-by-side on the shore, "that he certainly could if he would feel more comfortable, but that your mother was far more likely to recover more quickly at home, in familiar surroundings, rather than in the hospital."

Jane rolled her eyes in mingled exasperation and understanding. "I know Dad's just concerned for Mummy, but I think she would feel better if he stopped fussing so much!"

Cam laughed. "And likely he'd stop fussing if she stopped worrying. Oh Jane! Sometimes I regret choosing a career over a husband, but most of the time I'm glad that I only have to think about pleasing myself. I can be in just as bad a mood as I want without worrying about it affecting anyone else."

"Were there any possible husbands you could have had instead of becoming a doctor?" Jane asked impishly.

Cam's eyes twinkled. "Oh, of course. Several. A few boys from medical school, some from back home, and one really nice lad who actually tempted me."

"And why didn't you choose him?"

Cam shrugged. "In the end, I realized medicine was more important to me than being a wife, and I didn't think that was fair to him, to always make him come in second to a career."

"Why not?" Jane said. "After all, women are supposed to come second to their husbands' careers."

"Why Jane, that's the most cynical speech I've ever heard from your young mouth."

Jane fiddled with the hem of her skirt. "I've been talking with Aunt Irene," she said by way of apology.

"Enough said," Cam said at once. She pointed up into the blue sky. "See that gull, Jane? Wouldn't it be grand to be as free as that, free to soar over the waves, flirt with the wind, go where you please?"

Jane accepted the change in subject. "You sound like Mrs. Ford," she laughed. "She's always saying things like that."

"Is that Mrs. Ford, sister and daughter to the Dr. Blythes of Glen St. Mary?" Cam asked. When Jane nodded, she said, "They all have a poetic bent. One of her brothers was almost a famous poet, until he was killed in the War, you know."

Jane hadn't known that Mrs. Ford had lost someone in the War … the same War where Dad had won his D.C. She felt a pang of sympathy for the pretty, laughing mother of four, who never gave any indication that she had a secret sorrow in her life.

"I love poetry," she said now. "But I can't write it for the life of me. I tried once … to please Dad … and I read it to him. He tried to be kind, but I could _see_ him trying not to laugh. After I was finished, I told him I thought maybe poetry wasn't my line, and he gravely agreed."

"Well," Cam said, peeking into the empty picnic basket Jane had brought to the shore, "If you ask me, your biscuits and jam are poetry enough; you don't need to write it as well!"

When the two parted, Jane strolling happily back with the basket bumping by her side, she decided that she wanted to be an older sister to the baby like Cam was to her. Not that Cam was her older sister … but if she had an older sister, she'd want her to be just like Cam.

The nest best thing, she decided, was being that sort of older sister herself. Wise, fun, and never condescending or patronizing. She would never push the baby aside, tell him or her that "You'll understand when you are older," never laugh when he or she said or did something silly … she would be the very best sister out there.

She, Mother, and Dad had speculated a great deal on whether this baby would be a boy or a girl. Dad was hoping for another girl, since, as he said, "We already know we do those exceptionally well." Mother said she would love another girl, of course, but Jane knew she would prefer a boy, so she could name him after Dad.

"That way," she said to Jane privately, "There will be one of each, one for each of us."

Jane didn't say so to Mother, but she thought that was silly. As if Dad would bond better with the baby if it was a boy!

Personally, she wanted a little sister. Oh, she would love a little brother dearly, but to have a little sister, a little golden-curled, blue-eyed girl who would cuddle up to her at night, ask in a lisping voice for "thtories," around whose plump little body she could wrap an apron and teach how to make bread and cookies … maybe a little brother would want to do all those things, too, but when Jane envisioned doing anything with a little sibling, it was with a girl.

Either girl or boy, she thought happily, looking at the late October sky, it was going to be here _soon_!


	35. Chapter 35

"Jane!"

At the panicked call, Jane dropped her taffy spoon with a clatter (the hardened sugar later proved a nightmare to clean off the floor) and raced to the stairs.

"What is it, Dad?"

Dad's face, looking oddly white, poked out from the bedroom at the head of the stairs.

"I think … maybe … you should 'phone Dr. Camlyn."

"Mother?" Jane asked, feeling the colour drain from her own face.

Dad nodded and vanished back into the bedroom.

Jane stood still, her head whirling. This was all happening too quickly! She wasn't prepared! Jody, Min, and Polly had all been over helping her make taffy. Mother had complained of not feeling well earlier and retired upstairs for a nap. Dad went up just a little bit ago to check on her, and that was when he had called for her.

The other three girls crept in from the kitchen.

"Is it … the baby?" Polly whispered.

Min gave her a scathing look. "Of course it is, nitwit. What do you think?"

Jody ignored this. "But it's early! It's not supposed to come for another two or three weeks. What can we do to help, Jane?"

At that question, Jane's numbed brain snapped back into action. She darted for the phone, ignoring her three friends. At any other time, they (excepting Jody) might have been offended by that, but right now they weren't thinking of themselves at all.

"Hello, Dr. Camlyn's office? This is Jane Stuart at Lantern Hill. May I speak with the doctor, please? Thank you. Yes, Cam? It's Jane. Mother is … it's time. Oh, _thank_ you." She hung up.

"Cam will be right out," she announced to her friends. "I must go tell Dad." She flew up the stairs, pausing partway up.

"Do you girls mind doing taffy somewhere else? I think our kitchen is going to be busy for the next few hours."

Then she vanished, leaving the three looking at each other.

"Aunt Violet won't mind," Jody said, thinking that her aunt would probably be more than delighted to be the first one to hear that "dear Robin Stuart's" baby was on its way.

They put on their wraps in a subdued silence and crept out the door just as Cam's gleaming green car purred up to the gate.

Jane ran down the stairs and out the door seemingly without her feet even touching the ground. She didn't even spare a glance for her departing friends, having neatly put them away in the "later" compartment of her organized mind. Right now, only Mother and the baby mattered.

"Oh good, you're here," she said to Cam. "Now that it's happening, Mother is very calm and composed, but Dad looks like he's about to faint."

Cam laughed. "Don't worry, I have plenty of experience with fainting fathers, as well as mothers and babies. I'll show myself up," as they entered. "Could you go into the kitchen and start boiling water? And we'll need plenty of clean linens."

"Right," said Jane, vastly relieved at something practical to do.

It occurred to her at one point in her endeavours, that she ought to call Aunt Irene. Then she calmly and coolly decided to wait until it was all over and they'd had a chance to enjoy the new baby for a few minutes by themselves. If Aunt Irene knew Mother was having the baby right now, she'd be over instantly, and Jane didn't think she could take the constant sighing and fretting, not to mention the damper she would put on their first joy in the new baby. Even with Jane's new sympathy toward her aunt from the summer, she wasn't ready to endure all that.

Aunt Irene would be furious and hurt when she found out that Jane had waited, but at the moment, that seemed the lesser of two evils.

"If it comes to it," Jane said under her breath, filling yet another pot with water, "I'll just claim that we were too busy, and it all happened too quickly, for me to think of calling anyone but Cam. Let her blame it on my 'flightiness,' if she wants."

It wasn't long after that Dad wandered into the kitchen, looking haggard and about ten years older.

"Dr. Camlyn pushed me out," he said hoarsely, dropping into a wooden chair and staring blankly around. "She said I was distracting Robin."

"Here," Jane said, sparing some of her boiling water to make him a cup of tea. "Don't worry, Dad, Cam said Mother is doing splendidly."

Dad laughed humourlessly. "Yes, she's fine; I'm the one who can't stop shaking. Good Lord, Jane, how have women done this for centuries? I've seen the most horrible things a man can see, over in the fields of France, but I've never seen anything like the pain your mother is enduring. And she keeps trying to reassure _me_!"

"Gee Dad, you really make me want to get married and have children," Jane said ironically.

"Not on your life, Jane!" he exclaimed. "It's bad enough I put your mother through this … _twice_ … I won't have you go through it, too! You'll have to become a nun."

"But Dad, we're not Catholic."

"Time to change that, then," he muttered.

Jane left him hunched over his teacup and tiptoed upstairs. Soft voices issued from behind the door to Mother's room, and the occasional moan of pain. She tapped softly, and Cam opened the door.

"Is there anything else you need?" Jane asked in a hushed voice, peering around Cam to see Mother looking very white and damp in the bed.

"Not right now," Cam smiled. "Just keep your father distracted. Don't worry, Jane, she's doing splendidly. It won't be long now … only another hour or so."

"Another hour!" Dad groaned when Jane went back to the kitchen to report to him. "How will we survive?"

He disappeared into his study, poking his head out briefly to ask,

"Jane, did you call Irene?"

"Um … there was no answer," Jane answered, crossing her fingers behind her back. It wasn't a _complete_ fib … there hadn't been an answer, because she hadn't made the call.

He nodded, and the head vanished. Jane went back to pacing between the kitchen and the foot of the stairs.

In another half hour, Dad came out of the study and joined her pacing.

"Thank goodness for you, Jane," he said gruffly at one point. "I don't know what I'd do without you. At your birth, Little Aunt Em threw me out of the house at the first sign of things beginning, and didn't let me back in until it was all over. I had no idea … no idea it was like this …"

Jane slipped her hand through his arm and rested her head comfortingly on his shoulder.

Half an hour after that, Cam opened the door and called for them to come up. Father and daughter raced each other up the stairs, Dad making it to the door a split second before Jane.

"Robin!" he exclaimed as soon as he entered, and Jane thought she'd never heard such love in a human being's voice.

She had one glimpse of Mother, looking tired but satisfied, with a new glow about her, and then all her attention was taken up by the white bundle in Cam's arms.

"This," Cam said, efficiently transferring the bundle from her grasp to Jane's willing but awkward arms, "Is your new sister, Jane Stuart."

"Oh," Jane breathed. She gazed into the tiny sleeping face. The baby was perfect, absolutely perfect in every way. But …

"Is she supposed to be so red?" she asked doubtfully, looking back to Cam in concern.

Cam laughed gently. "Yes. She is a fine, healthy baby girl, and your mother did beautifully."

Jane walked very carefully over to the bed and tipped her arms just a little, so Dad could see the baby without moving from his post at Mother side, his hand gripping hers.

"What do you think, Dad?"

"I'm sorry it's not a son," Mother said at the same time.

Dad looked … and looked … and swallowed hard. "She's perfect," he said shortly. His eyes flicked to Jane, and back to the baby. "She looks like our Jane."

"What are we going to call her?" Mother asked, reaching up with her free hand to caress the baby's face. "We never did settle on a name."

"What do you think, Jane?" Dad asked.

Jane's thoughts flew guiltily to her aunt, excluded by Jane's own choice from this magical moment. Poor, mostly-unloved Aunt Irene, living alone in her house in Charlottetown. Aunt Irene had been so busy wrapping herself up in Dad's life that she'd never had a chance to get married and have a delicious baby like that. No wonder she was bitter sometimes!

Jane knew just the solution.

"Irene," she said, and was rewarded by an enormously bright smile suddenly crossing Dad's face. Mother's nose wrinkled just slightly, though she tried to smile just as sincerely, and Jane hastily added,

"As her middle name, so we won't confuse her with Aunt Irene."

"That sounds perfect," Mother said in relief.

"What for her first name, then?" Dad asked. "What goes well with Irene?"

Cam put the last of her instruments into her bag and closed the clasps. She joined the family by the bed.

"Robin is a nice name," she offered.

Mother shook her head at once. "That will be just as confusing as if her first name was Irene. Besides, I want her to be a far better woman … wiser and braver … than her mummy."

"Not possible," Jane said loyally, and Dad squeezed Mother's hand.

"Elisabeth," he said suddenly. "The old Biblical spelling."

"Elisabeth Irene Stuart," Jane tested the name on her tongue. "It's perfect, Dad." She nuzzled the baby closer to her chest. "Hello, little Elisabeth," she whispered. "I'm your big sister Jane. I promise, as soon as you are old enough, I'll teach you everything you need to know about cooking and keeping a house. We'll play by the water next summer, and I'll show you how to dig for clams, and we can pick wild strawberries … and someday, when you're a little bit older, you can sleep all night in bed with me, and we can whisper secrets all night long. I'll even tell you how to go on moon-sprees."

Then she reluctantly handed Elisabeth Irene over to her father, and went downstairs to call Aunt Irene with the news about her namesake.

A baby sister! Jane didn't think she'd ever been happier, not even when she knew Mother and Dad were going to live together and they were going to be a family again.

Somehow, with the birth of Elisabeth, they seemed even more of a family … a true family now, not just parents and Jane. Two sisters, two parents … it was perfect.

Jane wondered briefly if she should send Grandmother Kennedy a letter to tell her about the baby, but she decided not to. Grandmother might decide to write to Mummy and upset her. She might even come to the Island to visit the baby and try to convince Mother to go back with her!

Mother wouldn't go, of course, but she shouldn't be upset right now, not when she had just given birth.

She still felt guiltily unfilial, but Jane decided to let sleeping dogs lie. It was going to be quite enough, having to deal with Aunt Irene until they went back to Toronto. They didn't need any more family feuds on top of that.

Elisabeth deserved better.


	36. Chapter 36

Baby Elisabeth … promptly nicknamed Lyssa, to Aunt Irene's great disgust ("_What_ sort of a name is that?") … passed her first month in great joy. Despite being born in November, that month of gloom and grey, she lit Lantern Hill with rainbows and sunshine from morning until night. She rarely cried, and Jane solemnly swore that she smiled within her first week. She was, they all agreed, a superior baby.

"Only fitting, for the sister of our Superior Jane," Dad joked.

"Really 'Drew, you shouldn't call her that so often," Aunt Irene chided. She was sitting in the rocking chair with the baby in her arms. "One of these days she'll start to believe it. Goodness knows our dear Janie already thinks a _wee_ bit too highly of herself, don't you, dearie?"

Jane smiled sweetly. Aunt Irene had been quite put out at first about not being told the instant Mother went into labour. Once she arrived at Lantern Hill, though, and Dad placed her namesake in her arms, all animosity melted away, and Jane saw a soft side to her aunt she'd never dreamed existed.

She was quite knacky with the baby, too, though Jane smarted to admit it. Cam confined Mother to bed for the first couple weeks ("Just to be safe," she reassured a worried Dad and Jane), and even Jane had to admit that they would have been lost without Aunt Irene. She washed the diapers, taught them both how to change Lyssa, sterilized bottles for midnight feedings, and even rocked the baby to sleep for many of her naps.

"I know That Woman Doctor probably wouldn't approve of rocking," she said defiantly. "But I rocked 'Drew to sleep when _he_ was a baby, and he turned out just fine."

"Better than fine, I would say," Mother said with a smile. She and Aunt Irene had come to an unspoken truce with Lyssa's birth, though Mother couldn't help but get a little jealous of how efficient Irene was with _her_ baby. Then she remembered that soon enough they would be back in Toronto, and Irene wouldn't have the chance to rock the baby to sleep anymore.

So she bit her lips and smiled, and firmly instructed herself to not be selfish.

"I don't know," Jane teased. "I think Dad's a little spoiled."

"Nonsense, Janie," Aunt Irene said. "You can't spoil a person with love."

And that, Jane thought, was the wisest thing Aunt Irene had ever said in her entire life.

If a person could be spoiled with love, Lyssa would have been. Everyone adored her. The Snowbeams, Min, Jody and the Titus sisters, the Jimmy Johns … all of Jane's Island friends thought her perfection. She was certainly one of the most-held babies of all time: she could scarcely even nap without someone snatching her up for a kiss or a squeeze.

Jane, Mother, and Dad might have been forgiven for thinking her the most beautiful baby ever born, but they were not the only ones. She was bald when first born, but her hair soon grew in golden and curly. Her eyes were the same colour as the Gulf, and every day Jane found a new dimple.

In short, Elisabeth Irene Stuart was as close as any baby could ever come to perfection.

"I'll miss her so when you're gone," Aunt Irene sniffed.

Jane saw Dad opening his mouth to invite her to come visit … perhaps indefinitely … and she forestalled him with an invitation of her own.

"You'll have to come out once the weather is better for travelling," she offered. "Maybe in March you can come spend a week? And then it won't be long at all after that before we're all back here for the summer."

"I don't see why you have to drag her all the way to Toronto in the middle of winter," Aunt Irene said. She clutched Lyssa tighter to her, and the baby let out a faint whimper of protest. "Why, she'll catch her death of cold, or you'll be stranded by a storm, or goodness only knows what will happen!"

"Foolish, I know, but we must get back for the second half of Jane's school year," Dad said cheerfully.

"Well, why can't Jane go out by herself, and the rest of you stay here? She has friends she can stay with, hasn't she?"

Jane bit back a whimper of protest herself. Why should _she_ be separated from her family? If they stayed, she was staying, and school be … darned!

"Can't be done, I'm afraid," said Dad. He put his arm around Jane's shoulder. "We were all separated for far too long, Irene. None of us want to be apart now."

Jane leaned into his embrace and smiled contentedly.

"Besides," he added with twinkling eyes, "We wouldn't want Jane to freeze to death, or be stranded by a storm, or any of those dreadful things, would we?"

"Oh, Jane can take care of herself," Aunt Irene said, unconsciously paying Jane the highest compliment she ever had. "She's not a _baby_."

Jane swore to herself that she was going to remind Aunt Irene of this conversation the next time her beloved aunt accused her of being "just a foolish child." Though, to be fair, Aunt Irene had done that much less since her illness. She was, Jane concluded justly, _trying_. It just took a while, most likely, to break old habits.

Jane decided that that was a good reminder to her, to be careful what habits she was forming now, so that she wouldn't be ingrained in anything too bad when she was Aunt Irene's age.

In Aunt Irene's arms, Lyssa began to wiggle and squawk, her signal that she was hungry, and Aunt Irene reluctantly deposited her in Mother's arms.

"You know, Robin," she said yet once more, "My doctor says that formula really is quite safe for babies … he even recommends it! You really don't need to make a slave of yourself, dearie. I would be quite happy to feed little Elisabeth Irene from a bottle so you can rest and recover, poor dear. I'm sure doing most of the feeding yourself is only hindering your path back to health. You don't want to make yourself ill with unnecessary actions, do you?"

"Dr. Camlyn says mother's milk is best," Mother said firmly. "Besides, it's not bondage or slavery, Irene. It's a _joy_ to know that I can provide my child with nourishment."

Aunt Irene sniffed … and sighed … and left the room with a sorrowful air. Dad had left as soon as Mother prepared to feed Lyssa, and so it was just Jane, Lyssa, and Mother. Jane and Mother crinkled their eyes at each other.

"She _does_ mean well," Jane said doubtfully.

"I know," Mother said. "And if it weren't for the fact that this winter has been so mild, I would be more inclined to follow her advice and stay here for the duration. But really, we've had so few storms, and the weather hasn't been terribly cold at all … I think we'll be fine."

"I do too," Jane declared. "And oh Mother, it's been marvellous to be here at Lantern Hill for all of this, but I'm ready to show Lyssa Lakeside Gardens, too. And I want her to meet Mrs. Kane, and the Westins, and even Mr. Kendall, if he's back to speaking to me."

"I think he's a very rude man," Mother said with unusual heat. "Yes, you did behave foolishly, but it was with the best of intentions, and certainly you did not deserve to be snubbed the way he did afterward. Especially when you apologized! It seems very ill-bred to me."

"Well, he was terribly hurt by Mrs. Kane when they were young," Jane offered feebly.

"Yes … when they were young. He should have moved past it. Oh Jane, so much trouble in life is caused by people refusing to let the past go. Why can't they just be happy in the here and now?"

Jane stood up and bent to kiss the top of her sister's silky head. "Especially when this here and now is so utterly perfect."


	37. Chapter 37

Despite Aunt Irene's fears, the trip back to Toronto was almost ridiculously easy. Lyssa slept through the ferry, wrapped securely in so many blankets Jane was more concerned with her overheating than getting chilled, and the trains were not stopped by any massive blizzards, ice storms, or anything of the sort.

Mr. Ford very kindly met them at the station in Toronto, so they didn't have to take a cab home, and he handed Mother a sheaf of yellow roses.

"Congratulations," he said, smiling. "Rilla wants to have you all over for supper some night soon, when you've had a chance to settle in, and she's also threatening to drop by some day just to meet the new baby."

"She's welcome any time," Mother said warmly. "Thank you so much for the beautiful roses. In December, too!"

"Toronto can't hold a candle to good old PEI in most ways, but the florists here are fairly decent," Mr. Ford said. "Not even in Charlottetown can you get roses in December!"

"Ah, but in summer, the poorest garden on the Island is superior to the fanciest florist here," Dad said.

"Very true," Mr. Ford conceded, and they went on their way.

They had wired the date and time of their expected arrival to Mrs. Kane, and she had come over earlier to put blankets and sheets on the beds, light the lamps, and leave them a home-cooked meal on the table.

Jane's heart glowed as Mr. Ford dropped them off before their Lakeside Gardens home; it bore a slightly reproachful look, as though asking why they had left it for so long, but Mrs. Kane had taken good care of it.

"Mummy," she said pleadingly, "May I take Lyssa in? I want to be the one to introduce her to the house … as long as you don't mind."

"This is more your house than ours anyway, my Jane," Mother said, passing the wide-awake and curious baby over. "You picked it out, remember. It's only fitting that you should be the one to acquaint them with each other."

Jane smiled brilliantly in gratitude, thanked Mr. Ford for the ride, and carried Lyssa to the front door in solitary solemnity.

"This is our _other_ house," she explained to her attentive sister. "We love just as much as Lantern Hill, only in a different way. We have lovely times here … sledding in the gorge, skating on the lake, walking everywhere in the autumn and spring … you'll go to school here when you're older." She pushed the door open and stepped inside, breathing deeply.

She went, naturally, to the kitchen first.

"This is where we make cookies, and bread, and all sorts of delicious goodies. Mrs. Kane and I like to sit in here with tea, and talk. I'll make tea for you, too, when you're a bit bigger, and we can have tea parties. You can even invite your friends over, and I'll make whatever you want me to … except doughnuts." She sighed; that still rankled.

"Jane!" Dad called. He and Mother were inside with the bags now. "Where are you?"

"The kitchen!" Jane called back. "I was just about to give Lyssa the tour of the rest of the house."

Dad appeared in the doorway. "We'll join you," he said. "I don't trust you to adequately explain to your sister the importance of leaving my study just so."

"Oh Dad! Lyssa's too little to mess with your papers and things."

"Ah, but it won't be long before she'll be following you around, puttering about just like you, always having to organize everything." Dad was smiling. "I know you women."

"Not half as well as you think," Mother teased, joining them. She held a note. "Mrs. Kane has invited us to a small Christmas party at Elysium at the end of this week. She knows that we'll still be getting settled in, but she says that Abby Westin has already offered to come watch Lyssa for us if we want to come, and she would love to see us. What do you think?"

"Confounded parties," Dad growled.

"Oh, let's," Jane said at the same moment. She and Dad looked at each other and laughed.

"I haven't seen Mrs. Kane for ages," she explained. "And a party might be a nice way to end our first week back."

"Very well," Dad said, giving in so easily that Jane suspected he didn't really mind at all. "In the meantime, though, let's just enjoy our first evening back, just the four of us."

Lyssa cooed contentedly in Jane's arms, and Jane herself felt a shiver of delight. The _four_ of them … what a nice ring it had.

"Tomorrow," she said aloud in satisfaction, "I'm going to start cleaning."


	38. Chapter 38

That first week back at Lakeside Gardens would almost have been too perfect had it not been for one little sting. Even though Mrs. Kane had kept up with the dusting and such, Jane was thrilled to be able to go through and give it a thorough cleaning, to be followed next week by an orgy of Christmas decorating. Mother and Lyssa spent most of their time sitting by the big windows in the front room, receiving visitors who came to adore. The Westins were one and all smitten with Lyssa, and even Eden was heard to remark that she wouldn't mind another sibling if it could be like Lyssa.

Mrs. Ford came over with Anna and Ally, and even Jane emerged from the kitchen long enough to talk with them. The girls were smitten with Lyssa's big eyes and fair curls.

"She is just precious, Robin," Mrs. Ford said. "Have I ever told you about the first baby I ever 'had?'"

"Why, wasn't it Gilly?" Mother asked.

Mrs. Ford laughed. "Dear me, no. Gilly has had the inestimable advantage of being a firstborn to a woman who already raised one baby. Little Jims Anderson … not so little now … he was my 'war-baby,' and oh, how I thought he would be the death of me at first! Then I grew to love him, and now sometimes I even still forget he's not really flesh of my flesh."

"Do tell us all about him," Jane begged, and Mrs. Ford, who loved a good story (especially on herself), happily complied.

Yes, everything was lovely, except for that one sting: Mr. Kendall was conspicuous by his absence, as Dad would say. Jane took time out of every day that week to walk over and see him, and either he was gone travelling (though he had once told Jane that he hated to travel), or he had locked himself inside and was refusing to show any signs of life.

The final day of the week, the day of Mrs. Kane's party, Jane took her usual journey to his house after she had cleaned up the breakfast dishes. She had just finished cleaning the last room that morning before breakfast, rising before the sun to get it done, and she was tired but satisfied, looking forward to the party at Elysium that night. Mrs. Kane had said it wasn't anything too fancy, so Jane planned to wear her navy skirt of lovely soft wool, and that pretty cream blouse Mother had bought her recently, the one with the jaunty bow that tied at her neck, and little tiny bows at her cuffs. With a plaid tam and her navy wool dress coat, Jane felt just like a working girl in one of the popular movies … Katharine Hepburn, or Myrna Loy … secretary or typist, out for a day off!

She was distracted from her thoughts about clothing and movies by seeing Mr. Kendall's bleak house … still dark and shuttered. She sighed.

"Oh me! What a mess I made when I tried to matchmake." As much as she liked everyone in her circle of friends, Mr. Kendall had a … _tang_ … to him that no one else did, and her life seemed somehow flatter and more stale without him.

"Well," she said, resting one elbow on the gatepost, "I tried my best to make amends. And I certainly have learned my lesson. Never again will I try to bring two people together … unless they are already wanting to come together and just need a helpful nudge," thinking of Colby and Jody, and the judicious, minimal organization she had indulged in to leave the two of them alone together during the wedding preparations.

She stayed there and mused on romance, lessons, and life for a while before remembering there were duties at home still, before she could justly escape for the party with a clear conscience. She roused herself, cast one last sorrowful glance at Mr. Kendall's forlorn house, and wended her way back to her house, full of life, laughter, light, and love.

Baby Lyssa was full of smiles and delight to see her already-adored big sister, and Mother was busy fretting that Abby was going to do something dreadfully wrong when she came over to watch Lyssa that evening.

"Mummy," Jane explained patiently, "Abby has five younger siblings. I'm sure she'll be fine. Besides, we'll be right around the corner if anything happens. Elysium isn't that far from here."

Mother smiled and sighed. "I know, Jane. I'm just being a wee bit foolish."

Jane hugged her. "I think we're all at least a little foolish over Lyssa."

"That," Dad said, popping his head out of his study unexpectedly, "Sounds like a very good start to a poem, my Jane - At Least a Little Foolish for Lyssa." His head withdrew as quickly as it had emerged, and Jane and Mother soon heard the sound of a typewriter clacking away.

By the time twilight fell and Abby had arrived, Lyssa was asleep in her bassinet, with two bottles of milk in the icebox for later, and Mother looked resplendent in a frosted green dress … the first time she had been able to wear something pretty in almost a year. Dad was also looking very distinguished in his suit, and Jane felt very proud of her handsome parents.

Abby cheerfully bid them all goodbye, with an odd twinkle in her eye as though she knew something they didn't, and they set off through the chilly night.

Elysium was lit from top to bottom, blazing like a beacon through the night. "Did she invite all of Toronto?" Dad grumbled.

"She said it was going to be a small party," Jane said.

"I'm sure she just wanted to make it look as welcoming as possible," Mother said cheerfully. Now that the painful first leaving of Lyssa had happened, Mother was positively enjoying the break.

Mrs. Kane herself greeted them at the door. "Welcome! Welcome!" she cried. "I'm so glad you're here. Come, let me take your wraps." She drew them inside, where Jane stood blinking in confusion.

Standing before the fireplace was … yes, unmistakably, it was a minister, holding his prayer book. And there next to him … Jane couldn't believe her eyes.

It was Mr. Kendall!

She swung her head around to stare at Mrs. Kane, who was smiling from ear to ear.

"Yes, Jane Stuart, this is a wedding, between myself and … at last … Edward. After your … ahem … rather interesting birthday party last year, I found myself thinking about him more and more, and finally, this past summer, I worked up enough courage to confront him and apologize. To make a long story short, after many, _many_ conversations, he was able to forgive me, and we decided to get married. Edward wanted to write and tell you at once, but I convinced him it would be more fun to keep it as a surprise for everyone."

Jane turned her gaze back on Mr. Kendall. "Then you _haven't_ been avoiding me all week!"

He looked quite different now from before … positively genial. He was smiling merrily. "Oh, I have been avoiding you, but not because I was still bitter. I was afraid I wouldn't be able to keep it a secret, so I had to lock myself away until tonight."

Jane was amazed, but she couldn't do anything but laugh in delight. "Oh Mrs. Kane … Mr. Kendall … oh, I am _so glad_."

As her wonderment started to calm, she noticed that the room was full of people. "Did everyone know but us?"

Mrs. Kane shook her head. "Oh no. The only other person who knew was Abby Westin. I felt it only fair to let her know what she would be missing by watching your little sister tonight. She was so tickled at the romance of it all, at the thought of helping the plot, that she said she didn't mind missing the actual wedding at all."

That did sound like Abby.

"Now then, Jane, you will be my bridesmaid, won't you?" Mrs. Kane pleaded. "Colby Westin has already agreed to stand up with Edward, and once you agree, the wedding can begin."

Still smiling, Jane nodded enthusiastically. "Of course I'll be your bridesmaid!"

She eagerly took her place beside her friend, and listened dreamily as the reverend began the ceremony that would at long last unite these two long-parted lovers.

Oh, it was like a storybook! Someday she would tell Lyssa all about this, and maybe, just maybe, one day she would be standing before a minister herself, with her sister by her side, and say these same vows to the man she loved. Her eyes flickered to Colby, holding himself straight and tall.

It wouldn't be Colby, she knew that much, but maybe someday she _would_ find a man that she could love enough to marry.

For now, though, her family and friends were enough. She had a lifetime ahead of her to think about her future. Now, she was content to enjoy the goodness of life as it was.

She had her parents, together forever. She had a baby sister who was the light of her world. She had two beloved homes, with friends so dear to her in each place. She had an understanding with the aunt she thought would always be a thorn in her side.

She was free to be whomever and whatever she wanted, no restrictions placed on her by anyone outside herself. Life, in all its complexities and interesting twists, was _good_.

At that moment, Jane's cup was not merely full; it ran over.


End file.
